Smile
by Queen
Summary: Because everyone needs to smile, sometimes. A series of ficlets, just for fun. Ficlet 48: Asajj writes letters home to Mother.
1. Hands

_Smile_

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Hands.

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The camp was dark, and quiet, except for the fire and the sound of Rex taking apart his blaster.

He would be on watch next, Ahsoka knew, and was merely getting ready to begin his shift, replacing her. He was sitting close to the fire, his helmet and gloves off, though they were resting just beside him on the grass.

Now, though, he was running his fingers over the pieces of one of his hand blasters, moving methodically through a process he'd done countless times before.

She shivered once, chafing her arms with her hands and moving to sit down next to him. He glanced at her briefly, hands still moving over nimbly the blaster, putting it back together and then returning it to its holster. He drew out the second one, beginning the process again.

Ahsoka stretched out her hands towards the fire, warming them. The night was quiet, and they weren't expecting trouble – yet. Things would get more dangerous tomorrow, and watch tomorrow night would not involve Rex with his helmet off, or her taking a moment to warm herself up by the fire. For now, she let the heat from the flames warm her face, press against her hands hard enough to heat them through to the bones.

"Get some rest, kid."

He put away his second blaster, returning it to his hip before leaning forward, his forearms resting on top of his knees, hands dangling in the air. There were a couple smudges of oil from the blasters on his fingers.

"I will," she replied, turning slightly and tilting her head. Her padawan braid swung idly back and forth behind her, dangling just over her shoulder as she looked at him, considering.

"What?"

"Hm," she shrugged, then lifted one of her hands and reached out, picking up his left hand, the one nearest to her.

"Commander?"

Ahsoka smiled. "Relax, Rex. I just want to see something."

His expression didn't change, remaining puzzled, and she slipped her hand around his, using her fingers to push his outward, splaying them open as she pressed palm to palm. Her hand was smaller than his, finer and more slender. His was broad, his fingers longer than hers, and though she knew hers was amber where his was bronze, those different shades seemed washed out in the dark and the firelight, both seeming to be almost the same shade of deep umber. The tips of his fingers were able to curl over the tops of hers.

She moved her fingers to one side, slipping them through the spaces between his and squeezing slightly, before sliding away.

Rex was looking at her oddly, somewhat confused, his gaze moving from his palm to hers, flexing his fingers as though something had changed about them, and he needed to experiment to make sure they still worked as they should. For her part, Ahsoka ran the thumb of her left hand over the palm of her right, still feeling the rough calluses of his hand against her own.

"You have nice hands, Rex," she told him quietly, blue eyes turned away. They were large hands, broad hands, and she'd seen him break droids in half with them. It seemed almost too strange, seeing him use them in more delicate operations, even if it was just cleaning his blasters. They were nice hands. Strong hands.

She didn't expect a reply, but she received one. It was very quiet when he said, "So do you."

Ahsoka looked up again, and they watched each other for a moment. His face was still, and with the flickering shadows of the fire, she could not tell if he was any redder than usual; that at least worked both ways, and he would be unlikely to tell if the dark chevrons of her montrals deepened at all.

"I'm going to get some sleep," she announced, turning to stand a little too quickly for casualness. "Good night, Rex."

"Good night, Ahsoka."

She picked out a spot to rest, away from the men in armor, but not too close to the fire either. Rex would move away from it soon, to start his rounds – she could hear him pulling on his gauntlets and helmet even now – but it didn't feel right, to take up a place so close to where he was currently sitting.

She curled up on the ground, on a patch of grass that wasn't too uneven, resting her head on an arm while she tucked the other in close to her. Before closing her eyes, she turned her hand over, looking at her palm, at the lightsaber calluses she'd earned from years of practice, and smiled.

He thought she had nice hands, too.

* * *

I know you'll all be shocked to hear this but – I'm not George Lucas. I know it's a stunning revelation, but I don't own _Star Wars_. :P

I thought it'd be fun to try a new series of one shots. All characters will be included, not just Rex and Ahsoka. Some will be romance, some will be friendship, some will be funny and some not so much.

I'm not writing with any particular plan in mind, so if there's something you'd like to see, I'm taking suggestions, prompts, and ideas.

Til next time!

~Queen


	2. Chignon 1

_Smile_

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_

Chignon 1.

* * *

Her fingers slipped between the locks of her hair, spinning it carefully into place.

A simple braid, or a simple bun, she'd be able to do easily. After all, that's how she usually wore her hair under her hood. This particular hairstyle was entirely more complex, and far more frustrating. Barriss held the coil in place, and gave Ahsoka a small nod. Her Togrutan friend handed her a pin, and she quickly jabbed it into her hair.

Her fingers rose, hovering, and the two of them held their breaths. After a few seconds, when it remained in place, they both sighed. This was the third attempt they had made to get Barriss' hair to behave itself. A holoprojector, sitting on the dressing table, was repeatedly running through the steps to twisting hair up into an elaborate chignon.

"Sorry I can't do this for you," Ahsoka said as Barriss began twisting another curl up into the rest of the bundle of curls she'd made. She picked up another pin and held it out, anticipating Barriss' need.

"You don't exactly have any hair to practice on," Barriss replied wryly, trying to ignore the ache in her arms. Holding them over her head during attempt after attempt was getting as tiring as a marathon lightsaber match. She took a deep breath, then held her fingers out. Ahsoka placed the pin in them, and she quickly stuck it into the twist.

They paused again, breathing quietly, waiting to see if it would hold. When it did, they let out another sigh. "Last one," Ahsoka said, and Barriss gripped the last tendril of hair falling over her shoulder and began spinning it upward to join the rest.

She was going undercover. Having to pretend to be the spoiled daughter of a prosperous Mirialan merchant – played by Master Luminara, of course – was going to be interesting. She had a shimmersilk dress of deep violet laid out on her sleeping couch, and she was a little nervous about wearing it. It wasn't that it was skimpy – there was plenty of material – but it was expensive, and elegant, and entirely unlike any of the plain, dark clothes she ever wore as a Jedi.

Barriss carefully wrapped the last coil of hair around the rest of them, Ahsoka handed her first one pin, then another, and she stabbed them in.

It held. The two girls let out a final sigh of relief. "I feel so unlike myself," Barriss admitted, looking into the mirror. Her indigo eyes were outlined in black kohl, touched with a bit of eyeshadow to accentuate their color. A bit of colored gloss tinted her lips. With her black hair in its chignon, she looked quite different from the somber padawan she was accustomed to.

Ahsoka smiled and folded her arms. "You'd better be careful, Barriss. You're going to get plenty of attention looking like that."

Barriss blinked at her. "Attention?"

Ahsoka laughed and waved a hand. "I just wish I could be there to see how the 41st reacts."

Barriss made a puzzled face for a moment, then flushed, primly turning back to the mirror and shutting off the holoprojector. "I'm not dressed like this to impress anyone, Ahsoka. It's for a mission."

The Togrutan girl merely smiled, shrugged, and straightened from where she was leaning against the dressing table. "Of course it is. I'll let you get dressed. See you in a bit, Barriss."

Barriss kept her attention fixed firmly on the display of cosmetics resting on the table until the door shut behind Ahsoka. She touched her cheek, fingers sliding over the bit of darker green blusher she'd applied and rubbing off on her fingertips. She sighed again, then went to her couch and slipped out of her robe, tugging the various pieces of her dress on: a thin petticoat, the shimmersilk skirt and loose sleeved shirt, as well as the velveteen vest with elaborate toggle buttons.

She stood in front of the mirror, smoothed down her skirt, and touched the elegant black coils of her hair, twirled so neatly behind her left ear.

She wasn't dressing this way to attract attention, and had little interest in making herself into a walking fashion statement. She preferred her dark robes, and the familiar comfort they gave.

But still, looking back at her was the shape of something she could have been, but never really was. An ordinary girl, with a look of ordinary beauty about her.

She was pretty. It was a silly bit of vanity, but it pleased her nevertheless.

Standing alone in her room, Barriss Offee smiled.

* * *

Thank you so much to all of you reviewers! I'm so glad you all liked the first chapter! To those of you who offered ideas, extra special kudos to you, and I'll do my best to work on your suggestions. All of your thoughts and suggestions have seriously made my day, each time I've gotten one.

You all rock! /hugs to you all!/

~Queen


	3. Chignon 2

_Smile_

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Chignon 2.

* * *

Gree knew he wasn't the only clone Commander in the GAR with a female Jedi General.

As far as he knew, he was the only clone Commander in the GAR with a female Jedi General _and_ a female Jedi Commander. It was always a source of curiosity to him, noticing the small, subtle differences in the way Commanders like himself, or Bly, treated their commanding officers, as opposed to others, like Cody or Rex. There was an awareness that General Unduli and Commander Offee were women, but under most circumstances, most of the time, regulations and rules were firmly in place, and they were exactly what they were supposed to be – superior officers, a higher ranked Commander and General, and Jedi.

As was General Unduli's way, she was formal with the men, distant but not too distant, warm but respectfully cordial all the same, even in the off hours when they were not fighting, planning, working. She was kind, and the men looked up to her. Much as some of the good sergeants on Kamino were looked up to as pseudo-fathers, General Unduli was looked up to as something vaguely like a mother, when she wasn't being looked up to as a General. Commander Offee, in a similar sense, was considered something somewhat like a sister, except when she was being a Commander. It was hard to define the relationship at times. It always had to remain strictly formal, but the Jedi were kind, when they were not boxed in to the officialities of the Jedi Order or the GAR.

It was in those vague areas, where roles were not clearly defined, that things changed. Neither of the Jedi encouraged anything, particularly not General Unduli, who seemed quite above the awkward attempts of the soldiers to try to talk to a woman about much of anything. Such attempts were generally met with a bit of dry amusement, and the conversations were shut down fairly quickly, if politely. Commander Offee, being younger and less certain of such things, could usually be coaxed into longer conversations, sometimes even with attempts at flirting.

Even so, he doubted either really knew how much the men in the 41st admired them – for the most part professionally, but it was hard not to admire them personally as well.

He was going to have to make sure any idiot who was recording this on his helmet's scanners kept it to himself.

The two Mirialan Jedi were walking through the hangar bay towards one of the transport shuttles, looking very much not like Jedi. They each wore an expensive dress of fine shimmersilk and velvet, the General in brown and blue, the Commander in violet and lavender, their hair coiled up neatly on their heads, the General's hair in a braided black loop shot through with silver, the Commander's in a twisting chignon at the nape of her long neck.

They moved silently, if swiftly, and as the men, one by one, became aware, sound in the hangar faded out as men stopped to stare.

Gree moved quickly to intercept. He knew they were heading out on an undercover mission, and would be gone for an unknown length of time.

He reached their transport just a moment before they did, and greeted them. "General. Commander."

"We will be in contact, Commander," General Unduli stated. "Please take care of things until our return."

"Of course, General. Good hunting."

"Thank you. May the Force be with you."

General Unduli frowned slightly as she took a bit of her skirt in hand, lifting the hem enough to make it easier for her to walk up the ramp into the transport. Commander Offee was gathering her skirt to do the same, picking at the shimmering fabric.

The colors suited her, deepened the hue of her skin and warmed it, the collar of her vest creating an attractive contrast to the color of her neck. There was, however, no time to stand around and admire. Gree cleared his throat and offered a hand. "Commander?"

She blinked up at him, then smiled, placing one of her slender hands in his gauntleted one. "Thank you, Commander Gree."

He did not ascend the ramp with her, but moved to one side of it as she moved upward, her hand slipping out of his as she moved within. He stepped aside as the ramp began to rise. Commander Offee could be seen just inside, looking back towards him, still smiling.

She could not see the smile he sent her in return, so instead he gave her a wave.

The door sealed, the landing struts retracted, and the transport ship lifted and headed out into space.


	4. Chignon 3

_Smile_

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_

Chignon 3.

* * *

General Unduli disembarked first, looking a little worse for wear, with her padawan walking a few steps behind her.

The docking bay was not busy, being late into the ship's night. The arrival of the two Jedi was the most exciting thing going on for at least the last few hours, and it gave Cody something to do, for a few minutes anyway, before the end of his shift. Following General Kenobi, he hung back a few paces, standing at attention just behind him.

"Are you alright?" General Kenobi asked, gesturing towards the makeshift bandaging around General Unduli's arm. Judging by Padawan Offee's missing a sleeve, she'd been the one to tend to her Master.

"Well enough, though a trip to the medical bay seems to be in order," she replied, before turning to her padawan. "We'll debrief in an hour. Meet me on the bridge. Try to get a bit of rest before then."

Commander Offee made a small curtsy, bowing her head. "Yes, Master."

"I'll escort you," General Kenobi offered, falling into step beside the Mirialan Master, who nodded courteously at him in reply.

Cody hovered, watching as General Kenobi led General Unduli out of the hangar bay. He turned back to Commander Offee, who, though uninjured, seemed a little worn as well. "Are you in need of anything, Commander?" he asked.

The girl straightened, looking at him with wide eyes. "No, thank you…Commander Cody?"

"Yes sir," he confirmed. She smiled politely.

"I'm fine. I think I'll make my way to the mess."

"Yes sir," he repeated, taking her words as a dismissal, and as she began to walk towards the exit, he followed at a distance, keeping his own pace. A couple of technicians were heading across the bay, and he directed them towards General Unduli's transport with a gesture.

It'd been a quiet day, amid several definitively unquiet days. It'd be good to get some rest, though he'd have to attend General Unduli's debrief as well. There was no telling what the end result of that would be. Though the pair of Jedi seemed tired, neither seemed particularly alarmed, upset or hurried, so with any luck, their mission had been successful, and he could sleep easily that night.

Commander Offee veered away from the exit, just before reaching it, and angled herself out of the way beside one of the Jedi starfighters, her posture a little strange, shoulders rounding in as though to curl up around herself. It was hardly alarming behavior, but it was slightly odd, and Cody found himself moving into a parallel position to her, wondering exactly what she was up to.

The Commander sighed heavily before closing her eyes, tilting her head to the left and tangling her fingers into her hair, moving quickly. At first, he wasn't quite sure what she was doing, but after a moment, the black coils of her hair began to fall, one by one, down over her shoulder.

He stared. It was a strangely personal moment, he realized, watching a woman do – or in this case, _undo_ – her hair. Though her shimmersilk dress was tattered, missing a sleeve and charred in a couple places, it did nothing to detract from the intimacy of the moment. She sighed again, this time with a small, relieved smile, as she ran her fingers through the dark locks. Some of it was in tangles, knotted in places, and she tugged at them to unravel the last of the coils.

His fingers itched, twitching with curiosity. His own close, military crop looked nothing like that, though they shared shades of black– his a more black-brown, while hers was a truer black that gleamed blue under the harsh florescent light of the bay. Even tangled, it suggested that, when brushed, it would be just as soft as the shimmersilk she wore.

It was then that she opened her eyes and looked back up, just in time to catch him gawping. She blinked, turned an unusual shade of viridian, and stared back at him with her mouth slightly open.

Cody did the first thing that came to mind: he flung himself to attention, arms locked at his sides, back straight, chin up, and silently thanked whatever Force there was in the galaxy he had his helmet on, so she couldn't see his face. When her expression didn't change, he hesitated, then added a salute to the pose, cursing himself for being caught doing something so stupid.

"At ease," she said softly, cheeks still a bright shade. He dropped the formal stance and took on a parade rest instead. "Dismissed," she added after a moment, and he tried to relax.

Commander Offee, for her part, was quickly turning away, several locks of her hair sliding around her shoulder to cascade down her back, instead. But while she turned, a hand coming up towards her mouth, he was sure that he saw, for just a second, a pleased little smile.

Then she was out the exit, and gone.

He stared after her for a moment, uncertain of what that smile meant, but eventually decided he didn't care. It was awkward, and silly, and a strangely private moment between them.

When it was his turn to turn away, he too was smiling.

* * *

Just wanted to send a big thanks to everyone who's reviewed! *sends hugs* You guys are awesome!

~Queen


	5. Mechanic

_Smile_

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Mechanic.

* * *

The sound of a loud clang, followed by a loud curse, drew Rex's attention.

The pair of female legs drew his attention more specifically. The legs kicked, and the owner of the legs cursed again as there was another clanging noise from beneath the _Twilight_.

He knelt down, looked under the belly of the ship and asked, "Commander?"

Ahsoka made a frustrated noise, then rolled out from underneath, a pair of goggles obscuring her face. Once she lifted the goggles up, he could tell she was scowling. "He's made so many 'special modifications' to this thing I can't make head or tails of it!" she declared, brandishing a hydrospanner at him for a moment before rolling herself back under the ship, leaving him with only a pair of legs to talk to again.

He lifted a brow, looking at the pair of petite, wriggling legs, then decided the roof of the cargo bay was a much safer place to be placing his attention. "Have you checked the power couplings?" he asked, staring resolutely upward. "Converters?"

"Of course!" came the instant reply, and he found himself looking down again as the legs made an irritated, kicking motion. "Special modifications – how is anyone other than Master supposed to fix this thing? Everything looks like it should be hooked up right, but the power's not coming on!"

Rex frowned, then lay down on his back, slowly scooting himself upward beside Ahsoka. She didn't acknowledge his presence, but lay back on the repulsorlift, staring up at the exposed guts of the ship in exasperation.

Mechanical engineering wasn't really his strong suit. He was trained for leadership and combat, not support or repair. Still, from what he could tell, things looked they way they should – more or less. There were a couple interesting knots of wire he wasn't quite sure the purpose of. Presumably, they were part of the 'special modifications' General Skywalker had built in.

Ahsoka sighed, sounding both irritated and defeated. "'Go get the _Twilight_ ready, Snips', he tells me. Look at this mess."

"At least we don't seem to be using it too often anymore," Rex offered, only to receive another sigh.

"I still need to get it working."

Rex frowned up at the mess of cables and the power couplings nestled in the middle. Sometimes, plans and hard work didn't turn out. Sometimes, the simplest thing was what worked best.

He made a fist and punched it.

Ahsoka made a small shriek of horror.

Then the power came on, small alert lights on the couplings flicking from black to bright green.

Rex turned his head and looked at Ahsoka, her mouth agape and staring up at the exposed panel. "Guess it just needed to be told who's boss."

"You –" Ahsoka gasped, mouth opening and closing a couple times in astonishment, turning to look at him, then the power coupling, then him again. "You _punched_ the _Twilight_?" Rex gave her a small grin.

She blinked at him once, her face half cast in green light, and slowly began to laugh. She nudged him with an elbow and grinned. "What would I do without you, Rex?"

"Not have a functional starship, at the moment."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, but continued to smile. "Thanks, Rex."

"You're welcome, Commander."

* * *

Yeah, not all of these will be deep and meaningful. ;) (Though I think most will be.)

Anyone out there have any suggestions for clone names? I think I can use a few, if anyone is willing to share.

~Queen


	6. Driver's Ed

_Smile_

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Driver's Ed.

* * *

"Pull out into traffic _carefully_, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, clutching the speeder door with one hand and his seat with the other. He was belted in tightly, and his feet were braced against the floor.

"This is _way_ easier than piloting a pod racer, Master," Anakin replied, grinning wildly as he gripped the steering wheel, bouncing in his seat.

Obi-Wan looked at the boy beside him. He had to get used to driving speeders instead of pod racers, and navigating the clogged skylanes of Coruscant, rather than the open dunes of Tatooine. Anakin, still a young padawan, was barely tall enough to see properly over the steering column.

"_Slowly_, Anakin," he repeated, trying to sound firm.

"I _will_, Master," Anakin insisted, shifting gears and, slowly, pulling up to the edge of the parking area. He paused, lifted himself up in his seat, and looked both ways. Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps this wouldn't be entirely horrifying.

"Now, pull out and join the rest of the traffic."

"Got it."

Anakin went though the proper procedures, checking the navigational computer, his altitude limiter, his speed governor, and switching on his turn signal, before looking again for an opening in the flow of traffic. Once one came along, he eased out into the lane.

Obi-Wan relaxed back into his seat. That wasn't so bad. Actually, that was fairly good. Anakin was a very good pilot, after all, he just needed to know when to slow down. Know his limits. And how much Obi-Wan could take before he went into cardiac arrest. That was all. He could handle this. He breathed a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and thanking the Force for small miracles.

SNAP.

His head jerked back, slamming against the headrest, as the speeder lurched forward. "_Anakin_!"

The boy was grinning with manic glee, darting from one lane to another. "This is great, Master! I think I figured out a shortcut!"

They took a nosedive.

Obi-Wan clung to the door and his seat as the lower levels of Coruscant rushed up to meet them.

If he didn't die of a heart attack first, the boy was going to be the death of him.

* * *

I have no idea what age people start driving in the GFFA, but if Anakin is driving the _Star Wars_ equivalent of race cars when he's seven...this can't be much worse.

~Queen


	7. Dominoes

_Smile_

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Dominoes.

* * *

The bunks were all empty.

Echo turned to Fives, after looking at the empty pair of beds, and shrugged. Fives sighed, looked from the lower rack to the upper, and tossed his duffle onto the top one. Echo, in turn, set his on the bottom, the black canvas material barely making a dent on the tightly tucked grey blanket.

The racks were like every other pair, either built into the walls or bolted to the floor in case of an emergency loss of gravity. They were neat, and they were grey, with small hard pillows set at the end of each thin mattress. The barracks here were much like the barracks on Rishi; simple, plain, but with a few scattered posters on the walls, some of speeders, some of propaganda, most of underdressed females of various species, printed fantasies for men who'd never met a woman to begin with.

This would be, hopefully for a long time to come, home.

"501st," Echo said, looking around the room, placing a hand on his chest, over the eel-blood handprint left by the Captain only a day ago. "We're in the 501st."

Fives made a grunting sound, low in his throat before bowing his head in remembrance. "Hevy," he said. "Cutup. Droidbait."

Echo bowed as well, the two of them standing silently for a moment, in the empty barracks. After a moment, Echo added, "Ninety-nine."

"Him and us," Fives agreed. "Last of the Dominoes."

Echo nodded, grimly. He turned and reached into his duffel, rummaging for a moment before he found the right pocket inside, and pulled out the small medal he'd been given on graduation of basic training. Fives looked at it for a moment, nodded once, and went into his own duffel, pulling out a matching one a moment later. Magnetized, it fixed itself easily to the durasteel bar attaching the upper bunk to the lower. Echo stuck his to the bar just below Fives'. The pair of medals hung there, small and bright against the grey of the room.

Echo said, with a determined smile, "Better make sure we don't fall."

* * *

This takes place shortly after the episode _Rookies_. This was actually one of the first ficlets I wrote when I started _Smile_, and wrote it about a week or so before "Counter Attack" (Season 3, ep 19) aired. It was meant to be a 'determined smile' story, but it's kind of depressing looking at it now. Seriously, I'm ignoring "Counter Attack" forever. ECHO LIVES!

~Queen


	8. Cooking

_Smile_

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Cooking.

* * *

Rex parked the old speeder truck in the corner of the yard and hopped out.

Even from this far outside the little house, he could smell the welcoming aroma of cooking food. It brought a smile to his face. He had some fresh supplies for the two of them, as well as a few new parts for the house – they'd finally be able to properly repair the table they'd assembled, as well.

Ahsoka emerged through their new door, smiling broadly. "Welcome home!"

It was still a lot to take in. They'd been on the run half a year now, since Order 66 went out and the galaxy fell to pieces. They'd been on this little, pastoral moon for only a few weeks, trying to put together a house and build some kind of life for themselves out of the ashes.

He returned her smile, then glanced towards the house. "You're cooking?"

She beamed. "I thought I'd make dinner."

It'd been a long day. Ahsoka had stayed home to try to get their garden going, while he'd gone into town to pick up supplies. A good meal after a long day sounded like a great plan. He smiled down at her.

Then, the house made a noise that no house should ever make: BOOOOOM. SPLAT.

The two of them turned to look at the door. Rex paled a bit, but Ahsoka merely looked thoughtful, tapping a finger against her chin.

"Ahsoka, what was that?"

She frowned a little, still looking thoughtful. "It sounded a bit like the soup." She drifted back into the house, leaving Rex standing in the yard, staring. He had a bad feeling about this.

Rex was definitely going to have to learn to cook.

* * *

This was a crackish idea I had waaaaay back in the day when I was writing _Pieces Between_. Obviously, it's much too silly and ridiculous to fit into that story, so it wasn't included there. But this is why I had Rex doing most of the cooking in that story….

Anyway, the ficlets in this story are not linear, and they're also not related to each other (unless they are numbered). Also, they'll begin lengthening out again from here.

~Queen


	9. Debate

Author's Note: This chapter is for the Elven-Spear, who was kind enough to leave me the prompt! Thank you!

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Debate.

* * *

"Yes, but the focusing crystal's diametric energy transfer rate is 6.398% higher than that of blaster gas."

As though to punctuate the importance of her statement, Ahsoka batted away a fresh volley of red blaster bolts aimed at her.

"Doesn't matter. Blaster gas's long distance projection capability is of higher magnitude than that of your focusing crystal."

And, to make his point, Rex took aim and fired, nailing one of the approaching battle droids squarely between its optical sensors.

"That's just a fancy way of saying you can hit things long range," Ahsoka retorted, backflipping off one of the cargo crates they were using as cover and slipping around Rex, to better cover his left side, where a series of SBD's were slowly clanking their way closer.

Ahsoka spun, the green arc of her lightsaber humming brightly as she returned one of the red blasts, striking the nearest of the SBD's in the chest area and burning a hole in it. "And I can hit things long range, too," she added with a wicked little grin, in a moment between one strike and the next.

They weren't pinned down – not really. They were just waiting for Skywalker and Kenobi to get back, before they could all happily jump into the _Twilight_ and take off. Unfortunately, about fifteen minutes into the mission, the Seps realized they were not a regular freighter delivering mechanical parts. So, for the last six or seven minutes, they'd been on the defensive, trying to make sure they had a ship to escape on, once Skywalker, Kenobi, or both managed to get the tractor beams down. The periodic explosions that could be felt through the ship were a good sign that the Jedi were still running around somewhere in the battle cruiser.

They were returning fire successfully, so far. Ahsoka, Rex, and a handful of other troopers managed to establish a perimeter, and were exchanging red bolts with blue, Ahsoka twirling merrily along the top of crates to do what she could to cover any gaps in the defense.

Still, they couldn't go anywhere until the Generals were back, and within such contained quarters, it was getting a little boring, shooting droids like they were in a gallery.

Behind his helmet, Rex grinned, keeping an eye on the defensive line as well as Ahsoka's whirling among them.

"Besides," she added, when she next moved close to him, "the flux manager is a lot simpler on my lightsaber, so it's much less prone to malfunction."

"Your lightsaber has a flux manager?"

"Of course. The control flange functions both as a beam limiter and a flux manager. It keeps the energy from fluctuating upon exit of the hilt."

She vaulted upward, then darted forward, low, cutting down a couple of B1's that had gotten a little too close. A fresh barrage headed outward, redoubling efforts at stopping the slow tide of droids. Despite doing well, they were on a Sep ship; they couldn't hold out forever.

Rex dropped to one knee, angling himself behind the crate beside him as he reached for a fresh tibanna cartridge from his utility belt.

In the two seconds it took for him to discard his blaster rifle's cartridge and replace it with a new one, Ahsoka had planted herself squarely in front of him, both her lightsaber and smaller _shoto_ lit and deflecting blasts. "And one more thing?" she added with a grin, "I don't have to reload."

Then, with the ease born from much practice, they moved at the same time, him rising to his feet and taking aim at the same moment she ducked aside to let him pass. She tilted her head, still grinning up at him, this time with a hint of victory in her eyes. After all, he couldn't argue with _that_ point.

Behind his helmet, he grinned in return, chuckling as he resumed fire. "A lightsaber is still no match for a good blaster at your side, kid."

She laughed, and the corridor leading to the cargo bay erupted with a fireball, two Jedi swinging lightsabers of their own just a few steps ahead of it.

"Looks like we'll have to finish our debate later," she decided, still smiling, even as she raised her voice. "Fall back, let's get out of here!"

There was a cheer from the defenders as Skywalker and Kenobi raced across the bay, and the men pounded up the plank, not wanting to be left behind.

* * *

Anyone catch the Han Solo quote in here? If you did, have a cookie!


	10. Pool

Author's Note: This one is for laloga, who requested a bit of Cody and Obi-Wan friendship. Hope you like it!

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Pool.

* * *

Cody glared down at the nurse blocking his path.

She was small, she was human, and she was in his way, her arms outstretched and her face scowling. "You are not allowed in, Commander!"

"Those are _my men_ in there," he shot back, managing to keep his voice from snarling.

"And _your men_ are in surgery, where you are not allowed to go! Unless you want to go charging in there and distract the doctors from keeping your men from bleeding out?"

Cody ran a dirty hand through his hair, trying to keep from snapping at the woman. The last sixteen hours had been brutal, for everyone, and he was glad of the presence of the Republic's Mobile Surgical Unit, with its' doctors, nurses, healers and shield generator. The glittering pink-lavender dome of protection was working at full strength, even after the recent bombardment it sustained. It was the safest place for kilometers in any direction, and with the medical facilities, it was the best shot the injured had of surviving.

Usually, though, he wasn't blocked from checking up on the status of his wounded troopers. He tried to stare the nurse down, giving her his most intimidating glare, but she neither flinched nor budged, and her only response was to plant her fists on her hips and continue to return his glare with her own scowl.

Before either one of them could resume their shouting match, a new, calmer voice interrupted. "Commander. Let her do her work." A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Cody turned to see General Kenobi standing wearily beside him. At the sight of the General, Cody eased his stance, straightening and backing slightly away from the agitated nurse.

"General – "

"Let it go, Commander. She'll let us know when we can go in." General Kenobi looked at the nurse, who was eying the pair suspiciously. General Kenobi's more relaxed posture and tone seemed to reassure her, and she eased as well, nodding once. "Come on."

It wasn't an order, Cody knew, but it was a little more than a request, so Cody followed the General down the hallway, sending a parting glare in the direction of the nurse, who returned it with an equally stubborn scowl.

Cody followed General Kenobi down various hallways, walking quietly and slowly. Personnel were running more often than not, most of them medical staff. Though the battle was over, and it was downtime for the soldiers, it was peak time for the rest of the RMSU, with technicians trying to make repairs and healers working to patch up the wounded.

He was nearly down from the adrenaline rush of battle, and his hands were still shaking slightly. They were rock steady during the fight itself, but once things calmed and he had enough time to think about what he'd just been through, they always shook for awhile, as though trying to make up for the lack of nerves during the battle itself. Cody grimaced and clenched his hands into fists, trying to help ease himself through the calming period.

Kenobi stopped walking, just inside an archway, and Cody stepped up beside him, looking around.

It wasn't fancy. There was a scattering of booths along one wall, and a handful of tables across the floor. One wall was taken up by a bar, with a droid tending to it, washing plastisteel glasses. A few troopers had also found the place, and were hunched in little clusters at the tables, wearily picking at food. A handful of technicians and other RMSU staff sat in their own corners, nursing glasses of whiskey or ale.

Cody made an odd face, then glanced at the General, wondering what was going on. "A cantina, sir?"

Kenobi sighed, then stepped in. "Most Rimsoo have one, so that the staff have somewhere to socialize when off duty. It's as good a place as any, to wait."

Cody trailed after his commanding officer, still unhappy about the whole situation. He tucked his helmet more tightly against his hip, checking over the tables of troopers as he followed Kenobi. Though the Rimsoo staff had alcohol, he was pleased to see his men were sticking to food and non-alcoholic drinks. It was too soon after battle for that level of relaxation, even if they rarely had opportunity to simply sit and have a drink. There could be a fresh set of attacks any time. As he walked past, troopers lifted their heads and saluted, both himself and General Kenobi.

"Have you ever played, Commander?" General Kenobi asked, and Cody switched his attention from the troopers to the General, who was lifting a cue from a rack and considering a pool table speculatively.

"Sir?"

"Pool."

"No, sir."

General Kenobi smiled and handed him the cue stick, which Cody regarded for a moment as though it might try to bite him. "Sir, I don't understand. Shouldn't we be waiting closer to the medical unit?"

Kenobi shook his head. "Our proximity to the operating room won't have any effect on the outcome. I think it's best we let the healers do their work in peace. Hovering never did anyone good." He selected a cue for himself, then flipped a switch on the table, causing a set of holographic pool balls to flicker into place, fluctuating for a moment with blue static before settling into a neat pyramid shape. "Why don't you go first?"

Cody frowned at the pool table, then the cue in his hands. He softened the frown into a skeptical look at Obi-Wan, who was patiently waiting for him to take the first shot. Frustrated, he set his helmet aside and looked at the rectangle of the table, the triangle of the pool balls, and the one, floating white one intended as the shooter.

He understood the concept of the game. Hit the triangle with the shooter, try to knock all of one set of pool balls into the pockets in the corners. Don't hit the black number eight ball in until last. It was not an order to play, but it was more than a request, and he didn't really feel able to tell Kenobi this wasn't what he was in the mood for. General Kenobi was a General, and a Jedi, and talking back wasn't allowed.

Fiddling with the cue for a moment, he tried to figure out the best way of hitting the shooter with the glowing, mechanized end of the stick. He settled into an awkward pose, and ended up pushing the cue's tip forward too slowly, the shooter rolling forward and barely impacting the pyramid hard enough to form a break. Cody grimaced. How was this supposed to help the wait?

Kenobi chuckled, taking up a stance on one side of the pool table and taking more careful aim, leaning forward and placing the tip of the cue between the knuckles of his left hand, while powering the stick with his right. There was a brief flash of light as the cue came into contact with the holoball, and a pleasant cracking noise as the balls scattered across the table. One of the side pockets-sensors lit up brightly as one of the striped balls bumped into it and flickered out of existence.

"Seems I'm stripes," Kenobi commented, smiling faintly as he took up another stance, aiming at another striped holoball. He fell into the same pose he had the first time, taking careful aim, and sending the white shooter bouncing off one of the sides to knock a second striped ball into one of the pocket-sensors.

Cody frowned. It was all angles, geometry, math and knowing how much force to apply. He tilted his head to the side as Kenobi set himself up for a third shot. This was getting embarrassing. It was just a game of pool, but Cody didn't want his new General to think he was incompetent in anything. He watched stiffly, and watched a third striped holoball flicker into nonexistence.

"Something wrong, Commander?" the General asked, preparing himself for a trickier shot across the table.

"You're very good at this, sir."

Kenobi paused and looked up, raising his eyebrows before chuckling. "They're holographic, Commander. It's very hard to use the Force on something that isn't really there."

It took Cody a moment to figure out what his General was suggesting, and he straightened in alarm, trying to keep a look of horror off his features. "Sir! I'd never suggest you were cheating, sir."

General Kenobi laughed, and his fourth attempt failed, the holoball winging the edge of the pocket-sensor and rolling idly back out towards the center of the table. "I know, Cody. I'm not suggesting you were. Try to calm down, at least a little. We're all exhausted. I'd suggest meditation, if you were a Jedi, but seeing as you're not, this is the best I can do. Your concern for your brothers is admirable, but you're no good to them winding yourself up to a point where you're shaking, angry and distracted."

Kenobi nodded towards Cody's hands, which were gripping his cue stick almost hard enough to make it crack. Cody stared at his hold, at the dirty gauntlets, rimmed around the edges in dried blood. His armor was stained; he hadn't been a shiny since Geonosis, but other than General Kenobi, he was in charge. Every call he made was on his own head, every wounded brother hurt because of where he placed them in the line, of what orders he gave out.

For the second time that evening, he felt a hand come down on his shoulder, belonging to General Kenobi. The General looked no better than he did, battered and dirty, his ginger beard and hair matted from dirt and some of the drizzle they'd run through hours earlier. The General, though, was giving him a small, determined smile. "You did well today, Commander. You should be proud."

Cody knew he'd been trained nearly since birth to lead. He'd done the best he could during the day, and no one was left behind, even though a few came back only for burial. Praise on Kamino was near to non-existent, the sergeants occasionally barking out that they were acceptable, passable, or improving. On rare occasions, there would be instances of being told, "_Good job_."

Cody knew Kenobi was regarded highly among the Jedi, and now, he suspected he knew why. It was not only his fighting capability, demonstrated clearly earlier during the day, but also this. His commendation of Cody's efforts was a sign of a good leader; bringing him here to try to cheer him up, to support him, even though he was just a clone and the General was a Jedi, was the sign of a good man. It was something equals did, brothers did, friends did.

"Thank you, General," Cody said quietly, and managed, for the first time that day, to smile.

* * *

This is supposed to take place fairly early in the war, not long after Cody is assigned to Obi-Wan. So, an opportunity for them to become friends as well as colleagues and coworkers. Hope you liked it, laloga!

A RMSU is a Republic Mobile Surgical Unit, called a "Rimsoo" for short.

~Queen


	11. Smackdown

_Smile_

* * *

Smackdown.

* * *

"If the two of you are quite done playing alpha male smackdown?"

The clear, feminine voice cut through their bristling at each other and caused them to turn their attention to the dark robed figure standing just beneath the low hanging branches of one of the trees. She was frowning severely, lips pressed into a fine line, brows puckered.

Cody and Gree were both Commanders. Both of their Generals were on planet, working in a cooperative effort to infiltrate the Separatist stronghold. But things had not gone as planned, their units were broken up in Separatist crossfire, and they were stuck wandering in the humid jungle with their communications blocked and little idea where to regroup. Unable to pull rank on the other, they were left to debating the best direction to take, both disagreeing with the other on the next best step.

Having Commander Offee appear while they had a – _professional_ – disagreement over where to go, left them looking a bit foolish.

Gree reddened under his helmet, and Cody straightened abruptly. "Sorry, sir."

Barriss sighed and walked past them, still frowning. "If you are going to argue, argue with your speakers off. If I heard you, so could the Separatists." She moved to the other end of the clearing, closed her eyes and appeared to concentrate, face taking on the peaceful, steady look of a Jedi using the Force.

The two men exchanged glances. Cody asked, awkwardly, this time over a closed channel, "_Alpha male smackdown_?"

"She _is_ General Unduli's padawan," Gree replied. General Unduli was not known for her toleration of nonsense.

"And she's friends with Commander Tano," Cody added, thinking of the phrasing. That sounded far more like Ahsoka than General Unduli.

Barriss opened her eyes and waved a hand towards the east. "We will go this way."

At least her arrival cleared up the chain of command issue.

Over the channel, Cody heard Gree begin to chuckle, then to laugh. After a moment, Cody joined him.

They fell into step behind her.

* * *

It's completely ridiculous, I know, and totally would never happen, but I really wanted to do a silly scene involving Barriss, Cody and Gree. And apparently since I like both Barriss/Cody and Barriss/Gree, all I can come up with is Cody and Gree getting into ridiculous OOC arguments whenever Barriss is in the vicinity. Because they're both too smart to get into a real fight with each other.

~Queen


	12. In Common

_Smile_

* * *

In Common.

* * *

"Would you like some?"

Ahsoka turned away from the wide window. Senator Amidala was standing just within the sitting area of the apartments she'd been assigned for the course of the symposium, a tray in her hands. There was a plate of croissants covered in powdered sugar, an elaborate pot, and three mugs resting on it. Ahsoka's stomach didn't growl, but it rumbled just enough to remind her that she had yet to eat breakfast.

"Sure. Thanks." She glanced out over the Chandrilan sunrise one last time, the day steadily fading from daybreak scarlet to daytime blue. Chandrila was a nice place, full of nature, if also full of politics. Still, the atmosphere here – both natural and political – was far more relaxed than it was on Coruscant. She could do with working security for peace conferences more often, if they could be held places like this.

As Senator Amidala set the tray down on a caf table, Ahsoka perched herself on the edge of one of the plush chairs and tried not to fidget. The Senator seemed nice enough, she supposed. Master Skywalker seemed to like her a lot, making sure checking on her was the first thing they did that morning. She hadn't entirely understood his eagerness to see her, until he'd explained he knew Senator Amidala since he was a child, even before coming to the Temple where he belonged. She'd been there when he'd found out he was to become a Jedi.

Still, she was a Senator, and Ahsoka was supposed to be guarding her while Master Skywalker got any morning updates from security forces. That, and she was…well, _intimidating_ wasn't the right word, but for a padawan just barely out of the Temple, the sheer opulence that surrounded the Senator and former queen of Naboo was just a tiny bit more impressive than she was really comfortable with. So she sat stiffly, and tried not to fidget.

Senator Amidala poured liquid into two of the mugs, and made a small, inviting gesture with her hand. Ahsoka picked up the mug, noticing the brownish mixture was too thick for caf, even with a bit of creamer in it. She blinked at it once, trying to remember why the drink looked familiar, then her face lit. "This is hot chocolate!"

Senator Amidala chuckled, sipping her own delicately. "Have you not had it before?"

Ahsoka smiled. "Yes, but it's been ages. The crèche masters used to bring it in for the younglings on one of the Coruscanti holidays. Sort of a special treat."

The Senator continued to smile, and Ahsoka relaxed a little. It couldn't hurt to be friendly with one of her Master's oldest friends. She drank another mouthful, trying to imitate Senator Amidala a bit, taking smaller sips instead of drinking quickly. The liquid was at just the right temperature; not hot enough to burn her mouth, but not so cool that it was growing tasteless. It was rich, sweet and dark, and it made her smile. It was thoughtful of Senator Amidala, especially since cocoa powder was hard come by. Ahsoka looked around the lush furnishings and eyed the Senator's elegant gown. She could probably afford it, even if it was expensive.

As they sat, sipping quietly, Ahsoka tried to think of something to say. She wasn't a politician, thank goodness, but she should be able to spend ten minutes making small talk with the Senator. The only thing they had in common, other than both serving the Republic, was Master Skywalker. "I hope Master Skywalker likes it too. He usually drinks caf."

Senator Amidala made a strange face for a moment, her brows drawing together and her lips puckering. For a second, Ahsoka worried she said something so inane it was wrong, but then Senator Amidala broke into unexpected laughter. She said, warmly, "I know. He's as cranky as an underfed rancor if he doesn't get it, too. I have a pot started in the other room."

She wasn't sure what it was: the idea of Master Skywalker as a cranky rancor, or the Senator's lighthearted attitude towards Master Skywalker. She grinned in return, and the two looked at each other a long moment across the table, before breaking into a fresh fit of giggles.

The door chimed, and Senator Amidala called, cheerfully, "Come in."

A moment later, Master Skywalker rounded the corner to enter the sitting area, freezing as he got a look at the two already at breakfast, both looking up at him with what appeared to be barely suppressed grins.

"What?" he said.

It was enough. Ahsoka burst back into giggles, setting her chocolate back down on the tray to keep from spilling it as she bent over, arms around her waist as she laughed. Senator Amidala only made it a few seconds longer, turning aside and pressing a hand to her mouth as she tried to stop giggling.

"Should I have a bad feeling about this?" Anakin asked, mock frowning as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Probably, Skyguy."

Anakin sighed, and Padme stopped laughing long enough to manage, "_'Skyguy'_?"

"Don't you start calling me that too," he griped, frowning more seriously this time, at Padme as well as Ahsoka. For some reason, that set them off again, Ahsoka with a hand over her face, while Padme was practically facing the other direction in her chair.

"There's a pot of caf on in the next room, _Master Skywalker_," Padme said with excessive formality, grinning as she emphasized his title and name.

"Thank you, _Senator Amidala_," he shot back with the same amused exaggeration placed on her name as he headed towards the kitchenette. The moment he was out of sight, though, he heard even more laughter from the sitting room.

Anakin sighed, but as he poured himself his first cup of morning caf, he couldn't help but smile, just a little.

Padme and Ahsoka had gotten to be friends.

* * *

'Cause you know Anakin would totally be a java junkie.

This is a vague reference to my "_Chocolate_" chapter in _Nothing Against Looking_. Apparently, I like to make Padme a closet chocoholic. They do have hot chocolate in the _Star Wars_ galaxy, but it's considered a rare, rather exotic treat.

~Queen


	13. Sides

_Smile_

* * *

Sides.

* * *

"From the lady."

It was electric blue, whatever it was, with swirls of green skirting the bottom, just waiting to be mixed up into the rest of the drink. He eyed it, speculatively, frowning a little, before glancing up and following the gesture of the bartender to the figure sitting at the other end of the bar.

He wasn't really sure quite what to expect, when he looked up. Some women just liked the uniform, others just liked the authority, the prestige – and sometimes the fear – it presented. Alone, he was an easier target than if he was with his men. An Imperial Captain without a squad of stormtroopers was somewhat less intimidating than one with a squad, especially if he was already drinking.

She was Togrutan, and not dressed like most of the other women in the cantina, in short, clingy clothes and sparkling cheap jewelry. His frown deepened. She wore a heavy brown trenchcoat over her dark clothes, a small bulge just barely visible under her left arm, suggesting she was carrying a concealed blaster. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't glaring, either. If anything, she seemed…curious. Her dark lips were puckered slightly, and her head tilted infinitesimally to the side. One of her fingers tapped on the rim of her own glass, and she made a small wave of hello at him.

He sighed. All he wanted was a quiet drink for at least a few minutes, preferably an hour or two. Chasing Rebels in this sector was like chasing ghosts, they'd strike and then fade out into hyperspace before any cruisers could make it into the area. The persistent guerilla tactics were causing headaches for anyone in command. The woman, though…who knew? Maybe she was a loyalist, willing to become an informant. She looked like a spacer, maybe a smuggler. It was about time he caught a break.

Polishing off his own smaller shot of whiskey, he scooped up the more colorful drink she sent him and moved down the table. She turned on her stool and set an elbow on the glowing surface of the bar, white brows rising. Her facial patterns were blunt looking; a wide stripe down her forehead, a pair of ovals on her cheeks, and another stripe down her chin. Still, she was a handsome female for her species. Togruta always did have a certain elegance.

"Ashla," she said once he was standing before her.

He set his drink down, lifted his chin and tucked his hands behind his back. "Captain Bonteri."

She smiled, then, and something flickered in her blue eyes as she checked out the pips attached to his chest, signifying his rank. "_Captain_, huh?" she drawled, taking a sip of her nearly watered down drink. Judging by the dregs, it was the same as whatever she sent him. "Not sure how I feel about that."

Lux frowned, not sure what to make of the statement, or the laughter in her eyes. After a moment, the laughter faded into something more serious.

"Quite an honor, to be a Captain," Ashla continued, now leaning her cheek against her palm. "Can't say I'm too thrilled about the grey, though."

Stiffening, he ran a hand absently over the fabric of the front of his grey uniform. It was standard for officers. This conversation didn't seem to be making much sense, and she wasn't acting like she had any information for him. Stiffly, he asked, "Is there something you needed Miss…Ashla?"

"Just…wondering. Why join the Empire?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," he retorted, becoming irritated. He enlisted once he was old enough, just a few years after the Republic fell. At the time, it'd been a relief, to see the Republic fall, even if the Separatist movement had fallen with it. The Empire served as a unifying force, and though it could be ugly work, it was better than the violence of the Clone Wars, better than the corruption and rot of the old Republic.

Ashla smiled again, this time a bit sadly. "It's not. I'm sorry for asking. I suppose in a way it makes a certain sense."

Baffled, he stared at her, thinking. Did he know her? Was that why the strange line of questioning? He tried to remember the last time he'd talked to a Togruta female. There weren't many non-humans in the fleet; it was discouraged. Lux had never quite agreed with the exclusivity of humans, the pro-human, anti-alien stances taken up by the Empire. It seemed illogical, considering the vast numbers of non-humans in the galaxy. Still. He stared harder, trying to recall. Something tugged far in the back of his mind, but between the slight buzz of his drink, the steady jump music thrumming through the cantina, and Ashla's various odd statements, he couldn't quite pull the memory to the surface.

Ashla polished off the last of her drink and stood, dusting herself off. "I wish I could stay a bit longer, Captain, but it's probably not a good idea." She looked him up and down and smiled again, warm if solemn. "Maybe in a few years, things will be different."

A spacer, probably a smuggler, who thought it was a bad idea to talk to an Imperial Captain? He scowled. "You're a Rebel sympathizer."

Ashla chuckled, a little sadly. "When's the last time you met a Rebel sympathizer, Captain Bonteri?"

He was tempted to draw his blaster pistol and march her to the outpost, but an odd feeling of _recollection_ gave him pause. Though the Rebel attacks were growing more frequent and more daring, they still refused to battle openly, or engage on planet. Shooting them down or analyzing their battle tactics didn't equate to _meeting_ them. "You would be the first."

She stepped forward, slipping around him, looking over her shoulder with a smirk while folding her arms. "I don't seem so bad, do I?"

He'd seen this before. He was so _sure_ of it. Grimacing, Lux wracked his brain, trying to remember why this seemed so _familiar_.

"It's good to know there are some good people on your side," Ashla stated, still with her strangely sad sort of smile. "You don't seem so bad, Captain Bonteri. I'm glad of that, at least."

She inclined her head gracefully, her tall, striped montrals dipping towards him for a moment, before she turned and left, quickly mingling into the crowd.

For a moment, he stared at her retreating form, her montrals visible over the shoulders of most of the men. He murmured, to himself, lips barely moving, "_I don't seem so bad_." A petite Togruta female, on a different side of a war, who didn't seem so bad.

His head snapped up and he rushed forward, pushing aside any beings that got in his way. "Ashla" was heading up the steps towards the exit, rounding the corner just as he shoved another body aside, trying to force his way through the crowd, causing exclamations and irritable grumblings in his wake.

Taking the steps two at a time, he rushed outside, stopping just outside the exit and looking around. The sea of sentient beings drifted past, in every shape and color imaginable, some laughing, some shouting, some hurriedly moving on their way.

And Ahsoka Tano was nowhere to be seen.

Lux Bonteri closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. It'd been…what now? Fifteen years? Since the day she and Senator Amidala came to visit his mother.

It'd been a time of great doubt. He was a teenager, trying to understand a war that took both of his parents from him, one at a time. When he was young, they all belonged to the Republic. But after the war broke out, and the galaxy wide conflict brought with it conflict of a more personal nature, Ahsoka made him think more carefully about who and what the "other side" was.

It seemed she was doing it again. She was a Jedi. Of course she'd be a Rebel.

Part of him wanted to call in the troops, place orders to lock down the spaceport, to scour the city for her and her accomplices. He knew that was what he should do. Duty dictated it.

But it wasn't what was _right_.

"You didn't turn out so bad either," he said aloud, earning a couple of odd looks from passerby.

It didn't change anything. If they met again, he'd have to hunt her down, fight her, chase her from one end of the galaxy to the other.

Today, though, it seemed he just bumped into an old friend. None of the Empire's concern, really.

* * *

From across the plaza, tucked into the shadows of a side street, Ahsoka watched him smile.

* * *

I'd been wanting to write something involving these two for awhile, and was considering making this one of the epilogues in _This is Not Our Fate_, but decided I'd put it here, instead, since it fit the theme. This almost certainly fits into my _Said the Joker_ universe (note Ahsoka's brown coat , hidden lightsaber and pseudonym).

And no, I'm not switching to Luxoka. :P But I do like the idea of them as friends.

~Queen


	14. News

Author's Note: This one is for shakespeareaddict, who requested Cut's response to Order 66. Hope you like it!

* * *

News.

* * *

Leaping off the tractor, he ran.

Shaeeah was screaming, waving her hands frantically and running towards him at full tilt across the field. The wheat rose up to her waist, and she was leaping up and down among the tawny sheaves as she ran, peach-blue spangled lekku bouncing wildly behind her.

It only took Cut a few seconds to reach her, extend his arms and try to scoop her up. She resisted, squirming away and down while grabbing at his hands and arms, trying to get a grip. One of her little hands finally wrapped around two of his fingers, and she began to pull. "Dad, you've got to come see! Come on!" Both hands were wrapped around his wrist now, tugging hard towards the house.

"What happened?" he asked harshly enough that Shaeeah nearly stopped her pulling to stare up at him. In the distance, he could see the house. No smoke. He began running again, this time with Shaeeah desperately trying to keep up while he scanned the horizon. After a moment, two small figures could be seen rushing across the yard of the homestead, straight from barn to house, one small and orange, the other bright pink and tall. Jekk and Suu. He breathed a little more easily. No one hurt, nothing on fire, no hostiles running around with blasters. He cut his stride slightly shorter and slowed so that the girl could catch up. "Shaeeah, what's going on?"

"The radio," she gasped as she fell into step beside him, legs still pumping rapidly to keep up with Cut's longer stride and rapid pace. "It just came on the galactic radio, Jekk and I had the holoproj on too, and there was this guy, and he's all _melted_, and the announcer's saying they're all _dead_, and the war stopped because everyone's dead!"

Cut faltered for a moment. The war stopped? The war stopped. The war, stopped! The possible joy of that statement was outweighed by the addition of the words "_because_ _everyone's dead_". He stretched his legs again, Shaeeah panting just behind him as they raced across the yard towards the house, bursting in the front door with a bang and clatter.

The shelf that usually held their small radio was empty, as it was now sitting on their kitchen table, the holoprojector and volume on at maximum. The sound of thundering applause filled the room through its' speakers, though the four members of the family were silent. Suu had her hands on Jekk's shoulders, and was holding him tightly against her. They both looked up as he burst into the room, Shaeeah skidding into place just behind him.

Near to life size, the pale blue projection of a man flickered eerily over their dinner table. His face was shrouded by a heavy hood, but as he lifted his hands and called out to the unseen crowd around him, it tilted back enough to reveal his face, twisted and frightening, _melted_, as Shaeeah described. He cried out, in resolute, undulating tones,

_"The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed, but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger. The war is over. The Separatists have been defeated, and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled."_

Beneath the figure ran a ticker, two dimensional and flat compared to the man. "_Republic falls in the aftermath of Separatist defeat! Newly formed government foils Jedi coup...Separatist leaders missing and presumed dead...Former Republic forces sweeping into Separatist held worlds. Banking Clan and Techno Union concede to Imperial forces. Just in: Utapau, Raxus concede to Empire...Utapau, Raxus concede to Galactic Empire_..._Emperor Palpatine addresses Senate_. _Republic falls in the aftermath of Separatist_ _defeat!"_

Cut's eyes snapped away from the ticker, back to the man.

The Chancellor. The melted man was the Chancellor? He straightened automatically, body snapping to attention at the specter hovering before him, calling out that clone troopers would now be titled _Imperial stormtroopers_. Stormtroopers. The Chancellor's arms were stretched out, emulating an embrace. No longer would they be defined as clones.

"Cut?" Suu's voice was quiet, but it cut clearly across the ringing tones of the Emperor. She slid her hands off of Jekk's shoulders to reach for him, placing a hand on his shoulder before sliding it down his arm. "You do not need to stand at attention. He is not here." Harsh blue light from the holoprojector reflected in her face, washing out the brightness of her skin. She took his hand and squeezed it. He did not respond at first, so she squeezed again, somewhat harder, enough to shake him.

Cut twitched, blinking up at the image of the Chancellor before turning away to see Suu's worried expression. Jekk shuffled up behind her and peered around Suu, as he would do during times of uncertainty. "Dad, are you okay?"

_Dad_. Cut shook himself visibly. His head was starting to hurt and he ran a hand over his eyes, digging a finger and thumb into each, as though to clear out any bad thoughts. "Yeah, I'm alright." He stared up at the Chancellor again. The Jedi attacked the Chancellor? Why? He was the leader of the Republic they claimed to defend.

He did not feel Suu release his hand, but he did notice when the Chancellor abruptly flickered off, plunging the kitchen into shadow and silence. Suu was frowning now, worried still but unhappy about something. She took his hands again and pulled him over to one of the table's chairs, urging him to sit. She pulled another chair around so that she could take a place just beside him, the two children hovering closer, making a little family huddle.

"Will the Republic come to Saleucami?" Jekk asked, breaking the silence and leaning against the back of Suu's chair. "Will the Techno Union leave?"

Cut leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and looking down. Suu answered, "I don't know, Jekk. Maybe the Union will leave. But it looks like there is no more Republic."

Cut frowned and shook his head. "The Chancellor is the same. The Senate is the same. The GAR is the same, except for titles." His brow furrowed. It was all the same, except in name. Why, though, did something feel wrong?

"I don't like the melted man, he's creepy," Shaeeah declared.

"The Chancellor is the leader of the Republic and is to be respected and given obedience," Cut stated, then made a face, biting his tongue, the words slipping out by rote. Suu was staring at him openly, her lips slightly parted in surprise. Shaeeah looked both vaguely chastened and vaguely disgusted, her head tucked down and nose wrinkled, as she stared at the now-empty space the Chancellor occupied over the table. He ran a hand over his face again, brusquely. "No. Shaeeah, you don't have to like him if you don't want to. His leadership caused a lot of people to die."

"Then why obey him?" Jekk asked, confused. "He sounds bad. And he looks like something out of a horrorvid."

"The Chancellor is the leader of the Republic and is to be..." Cut grimaced, making a frustrated noise. Suu took his hand in hers again, holding it tightly.

"Cut," she said gently, "you're not in the army anymore. You do not need to defend him."

"I know." Cut stared down at his feet, trying to sort through his thoughts. He didn't want to be a soldier. Never wanted it, though he was just as skilled as any other trooper in the GAR, just as well trained. He'd long since chosen where to give his loyalty, and he made that decision freely, on his own terms. His duty was here, with Suu, Shaeeah and Jekk. Still, he was raised as a trooper, with the ideals of the Republic drilled into him from the moment he was decanted. The Chancellor _was_ the Republic.

Or was that just what he'd been taught to believe?

His head hurt.

"Cut, do you know why the Jedi would try to overthrow the Chancellor?" Suu's hand was cool against his cheek, and he closed his eyes, allowing her presence to soothe him. Suu had little love of the Republic, seeing them as only slightly better than the Techno Union itself. She would be somewhat more objective, even if she was skeptical. "The Jedi work for the Republic, as special guards, don't they? Why would Palpatine's most trusted defenders turn against him?"

"I don't know."

A Jedi coup, a Jedi rebellion. The Supreme Commander of the Republic - the Chancellor - would have had to order the troops to turn against the Jedi. A single Jedi was powerful, but no matter how skilled a Jedi was, they would not be able to face an entire battalion of trained clone troopers alone.

Why _would_ the Jedi turn against the Chancellor? Cut had never met any of the Jedi, not personally. But he had been at Geonosis. He'd seen what the Jedi could do, individually as well as in group. He'd seen them tear into Separatist lines with a grace so deadly it was frightening. They'd been outnumbered and outmanned in that arena, or so he'd heard, but once they'd been given freedom to move and the support of his brothers - Geonosis foreshadowed much of the rest of the war. Bloody, violent, terrifying and, for those who survived, thrilling - until the death counts began to roll in.

Training taught him the Chancellor was the Republic. Without him, the Republic would fall, and that could not be tolerated. He was the Supreme Commander, the highest authority, demanding of obedience and respect. But training also taught him that the Jedi were near superbeings, to be followed into battle and obeyed without question.

Unless they were traitors. Unless the contingency orders came into play. Unless they turned against the Republic. Unless they turned against the _Chancellor_.

But it did not answer _why_. Or who? How many of the Jedi were dead? The leaders? All of them? They were sworn to uphold the same Republic as the clone troopers. He needed to watch more of the news, to try and understand what was happening, to sift through the remains of the bias that infused the media of Separatist-held Saleucami.

He had no way of knowing what political machinations were going on. No way of knowing how far the ramifications would reach.

"Are you okay, Dad?" Shaeeah asked, hovering beside him, trying to peer around into his face. Shaeeah had her hands clasped together, her brows drawn in concern, her lekku curling slowly upward as her apprehension grew.

He should be happy. The war was over. His brothers would be unlikely to be free to make their own choices, but there would be no more war. No more battles, no more constant threat of death. And yet, there was a warning in his heart that he could not ignore. Something was wrong. Badly wrong.

Cut drew a smile to his face, though it was wan. He tried to give it more energy, to encourage Shaeeah, reassure her. She was nine, and a normal nine. She shouldn't have to be afraid of the melted man who had declared himself Emperor. Cut wrapped an arm around the girl and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. "I'm okay. The war's over. This is great news."

Shaeeah looked up at him, skeptical, and Jekk's expression was no different. His gaze softened a little and he smiled more genuinely. Shaeeah and Jekk were bright, and knew something was wrong. At least, unless things changed very drastically, they were safe here in rural Saleucami. He would watch, and he would listen.

Suu's hand tightened around his again, and this time he returned her grip with his own. He'd decided his own path, years ago. This was where his duty lay. This was his home, and his family, and he would hope that his fears were unfounded.

He feared for the future, but he smiled to give his family strength.


	15. Touch 1

_Smile_

* * *

Touch 1.

* * *

Her feet were small, bare, one resting on top of the other, peeking out from beyond the bottom edge of her blanket.

They lay still, save for the moments when her toes curled or she tried to raise them up under the thin blanket draped over her body. Ahsoka slept, and he watched, and resisted, until he decided he couldn't anymore, and, very slowly, he lowered a hand and placed it lightly on her uppermost foot.

He checked her face, still tense even in sleep. Her eyes were closed, even after he made contact with her skin, dark lashes resting on her cheeks. His hand eased, relaxing slowly, though he kept the contact light to keep from waking her. Rex let his fingers curl into her arch, and his thumb ran faintly across the delicate skin on the top of her foot, tracing the thin bones and patterns of veins beneath. The soles of her feet were slightly paler than they were on top, sepia rather than sienna. At her ankle, just below where her leggings ended, he could see the pale white tip of a marking; a mere point from this angle, he could not tell what shape or design curved further upward.

He let his one hand rest there, warming her feet and reassuring himself, while the other touched his blaster, resting on his other side. It was cold, but not too cold. The rain that drizzled during the whole of the day had ended a few hours ago, but it was still an aching, chilly humidity that hung in the air. The small fire they'd built did little to stave off the temperature, but it at least provided some measure of light that they had to themselves. There were others in the warehouse turned refugee camp, and here and there Rex could see the dancing of fires, or of shadows passing between them.

Six weeks, tomorrow. Six weeks since the Republic died, and their lives with them.

He brushed his thumb lightly over the surface of her skin again, feeling the softness of the top, and the harder calluses that rimmed the blade of her foot. Her toes were small and fine, though the largest ones seemed to lean inward slightly. Rex checked her face again, to make sure she was still sleeping, to see if her expression had eased any. This time, he found a pair of sky blue eyes, open, watching him in silence.

For a moment, he didn't move. He couldn't read her face. Usually so expressive, so vital, Ahsoka had grown quiet once the chaos of the first few days ended. She was not sullen; only silent. Now, she merely looked at him, her face unmoving, her eyes indicating neither acceptance nor rejection. She'd become something almost eerie, since their flight began. Touching her almost felt like he could tether her to one place, keep her from drifting off somewhere in the Force while she sought survivors through Jedi ways he didn't fully understand.

He removed his hand, but did not look away. She did not move, but she did open her mouth and say, quietly, "It's okay, Rex."

He stayed still. So did she. Her face was dirty from all the walking in the rain they'd done that day. The fan shapes on her cheeks were more grey than white. He returned his hand to her foot, just as lightly as before, running his knuckles over her skin, from her ankle down to her toes. Ahsoka closed her eyes for a moment, breathing softly. He moved his hand to the lower foot, letting his fingers trail.

She stirred, and he pulled away, setting his hand onto his knee. Ahsoka sat up, pushing herself forward and tucking her legs between them as she resettled the blanket around her shoulders. Huddled together, she picked up his hand in hers and ran her thumbs over the back of it, before she lowered it back down onto her feet. They were cool, but warmer now than they were a few minutes ago. She trailed her fingers over his wrist, then pressed slightly, encouraging him. He let his hand curl around one foot again, and she leaned forward, her knees pressing into his side. Half her face was lit from the dull fire; the other half was cast in shadow. Both her eyes still seemed bright, even if they lacked vitality.

She searched his face for something, one hand coming up to run across one unshaven cheek. The sound of her fingers brushing across two week old beard was rough, bristly. He looked away, but she didn't let him move his face. "It's okay, Rex," she repeated, and the words drew his attention back to her.

Leaning in, he watched as her face moved past him, upward, bringing her throat and collarbones up to his eye level. Chapped, slightly moistened lips were pressed tenderly against his forehead, just above his brows, and they lingered there. He closed his eyes and shivered at the contact. She drew back a bit, only to press her forehead against his cheek. Then, again, very softly, "It's okay, Rex."

The hand that was not already touching her left its' place on his blaster, and moved haltingly upward, until they reached her collarbone. He ran his fingers across it, feeling the thinness of the skin there, and the hard, delicate bone underneath. She shivered as he reached the hollow of her throat, a finger dipping into it before moving slowly upward, along the front of her neck, then the side. He felt her swallow, could see the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, could feel that breath on his face.

It was barely a kiss. Little more than a lingering touch of one set of lips on another, he placed his mouth on hers. When he pulled away, her eyes were closed, her head slightly bowed. They stayed that way for a little while, simply breathing, each of them touching and being touched.

Her lips curled upward, just a tiny bit, and Rex slowly let out a breath. She opened her eyes. They weren't full of energy, the way they used to be, but they were expressive, heavy, and there was a warmth there which was, for the past six weeks, absent. She ran her hand down his cheek.

"I think I'll be awake awhile. You should rest instead."

He didn't move, not for several long moments. Then he ran his hand back down her neck, over a lekku, over her shoulder and down her arm, wrapping his fingers around it. She was wiry, and though her arms were thin, they were all muscle. Ahsoka was stronger than she appeared. The thought made him smile a little. "Will you be warm enough?"

Her smile was soft, shy but also just a little mischievous. "I think so." Ahsoka slipped the tattered blanket from around her shoulders and wrapped it around Rex. "Sleep. I'll watch over you for awhile." She moved her hands to his shoulders, pulling him forward rather than pushing him back. Her feet slid out from under his hand as she refolded her legs, crossing them before tugging him forward again.

Puzzled, he propped himself up a few inches above her lap and looked at her again, questioningly. She placed a hand on his forehead and pressed, coaxing him down. Rex lay there, stiffly for several moments, until Ahsoka began to run her fingers through the short growth of his hair, slow but steady.

Her touch was soothing. The blanket and the fire offered little warmth, but he felt warm nonetheless.

Content, he closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

I love writing Rexsoka sometimes.

Thoughts?

~Queen


	16. Touch 2

_Smile_

* * *

Touch 2.

* * *

"Let me."

She knelt, trying to be reassuring, while at the same time keep him from grabbing her hands and preventing her from doing what was needed. Gree struggled, sitting on the grey floor of the cave, visibly working to keep from writhing in pain. With his helmet on, no sound came from him, and it stood in strange, silent contrast to his pained struggling. He batted Barriss' hands away from him, kicking his feet in her general direction without actually kicking her; then a spasm came and he doubled over, clutching at his shoulders.

Barriss took the opportunity to press forward, to grab him while waving off one of the clone medics. "I will take care of him," she said sharply. "See to the others." He nodded and turned sharply, moving on to the next man down.

Most of the wounded had the usual injuries: plasma burns from blaster fire and detonators, lacerations and broken bones from being thrown by the overpressure of exploding grenades. A few, though, were in Gree's situation, with small, red tufted darts protruding from the vulnerable points in their armor, in the joints and chinks where black jumpsuit was visible under the barrier of white. She slid her hands up over his dented shoulder plates, over the buckled fastenings and down again, pulling him against her to both restrain and comfort. "Shh," she whispered. "Shh."

For a moment, Gree rallied and grew still, his body only twitching and slightly rocking. Then his hands reached out and grabbed her, high along her spine, gauntleted fingers digging into the back of her ribcage. Barriss gasped, flinching, but continued her work, leaning up and over to find one of the blowdarts lodged in the seam where the back of his chestplate ended and his spaulder began. "I've found it," she told him, and slipped a hand up to his neck, into the black-clad space between helmet and cuirass. He felt warm, almost hot, even through the thick jumpsuit. There was not enough space to caress with the whole of her hand, so instead she squeezed, pressing in harder with a thumb and drawing it up and down along the side of his neck, massaging. He clutched tighter, and she curled around him, letting him press the front of his helmet into her belly.

She let her other hand hover over the blowdart, and she closed her eyes. He was a core of heat, far too hot for normal, and the locus of the heat was in his shoulder, burning red and inflamed. Tendrils of black were wrapping around the inflamation, dark as night and just as airy, stretching outward into muscle and sinew, pooling in joints before sending out fresh whorls into bone and flesh.

His fingers grasped at her, raking across her shoulder blades, and she felt the black tendrils contract before expanding again, this time more aggressively. Barriss winced in sympathy, then focused again, opening her eyes. "Gree, I need to remove your helmet."

Still for several seconds, he grasped at her again, this time lifting his hands up for several seconds before clutching at her shoulders. Barriss eased back and reached for her medical kit, keeping one arm out, braced. Gree wrapped a hand around her forearm, squeezing, and Barriss tried not to wince again. One handed, she pulled a hypospray out of her kit and set it in her lap, then pulled out a tube of anti-toxin, braced a corner of the packet in her teeth and pulled, unsealing it. She set it in her lap and pushed the hypospray into the clasps on the end of the tube until it clicked.

She reached out and pushed against the underside of his helmet. "Let me remove it. You have to let go, Commander."

His hands slid down her arm until they were around her hand; she clutched back for a moment, squeezing with as much strength as she could muster, then pulled it away from his. Gree doubled over, his hands clamping down around his ankles. Quickly, Barriss slipped her hands under the edge of the helmet, depressurized it, and slid it over his head, setting it aside. His face was cramped in pain, eyes squeezed shut and head bowed. She could not see the tension in his neck and shoulders, covered as they were with dirty white and green armor, but it was obvious by the way he held himself, that they were severely cramped.

"This is a broad spectrum anti-toxin." It took only a moment for her to push down the high collar of his jumpsuit and find a vein, plunging the tip of the hypo in and letting the plunger inside drop with a hiss. "It will take a few minutes to spread through your system." Moving quickly, she discarded the first tube and reloaded it. "This is a painkiller." The hypospray hissed again as she injected it.

He was shaking; it was not the convulsions of a rejection, but instead the trembling of one trying to control pain. He was breathing through grit teeth in hard pants. She leaned forward, pulling him against her; he buried his head into her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her again, clutching at her back and hanging on. "Almost done," she reassured, slipping her arms around him, one below his right armpit, the other around his neck. "Almost done." She let her hand run through the hair at the nape of his neck, pausing for just one moment while she ran a thumb along the tense tendons where his spine met his skull. His skin was dry but smooth, his hair soft. She squeezed her eyes shut and repeated herself. "Almost done."

This time, her fingers sought out the dart. She scanned him again with the Force. His body was still hot, though battling a healing coolness pouring in from outside it, the black tendrils struggling to take hold where a minute ago they were clambering for more and more of him. Her hand wrapped around the red fluff of the dart and gently pried, wary of any changes. Gree gasped, jerking against her as he fisted his hands in the hem of her black hood. She felt the dart give a little more, and she opened her eyes as the last of it came out, a nasty little barbed spiral on the tip of it. Scowling at the thing, she tossed it next to her kit. She'd destroy it soon.

Placing a hand over the hole it left in his jumpsuit, she closed her eyes again and breathed, letting the Force do its' work. She soothed his nervous system, loosened muscles, dispelled the disturbing coils of darkness that were waging a now-losing battle against the anti-toxin and her healing methods. Gree, pressed hard against her, was still shaking. Without his helmet, she could feel a sheen of sweat where his temple met her jaw.

"Breathe with me," she told him. He made a half-groan, which she took for as uncertainty as much as pain. She bent her head closer to his ear, letting him feel her breath there. "Breathe in when I do. I know it's not so clear with your armor. Match my breathing. In when I do, out when I do." He gulped and nodded.

She took in a deep breath, and in turn she felt Gree's chest swell. She released the breath, slowly, much more slowly than she took it in, and he mimicked her. In and out, slow and slower. She breathed deeply, deliberately, letting him feel her inhalations through his hands as her back expanded and contracted. They twitched, relaxed, tensed, then slid an inch downward before clutching again. Barriss tilted her head, setting her cheek against his matted faux-red hair. She moved a hand back up to the nape of his neck, just above the jumpsuit, the short curls there brushing against her fingertips. Still softer than she should be noticing.

Her hand moved back to the jumpsuit collar as her lips curled downward for a moment.

Gree shuddered, his body slowly unclenching as he relaxed. Barriss caught her breath as the embrace eased.

Neither moved. Gree lifted one hand and slid it, just a few inches, down along the curve of her back. Just enough to be considered a caress. She shivered, and he stopped.

His voice was thick when he said, "Thank you, Commander."

"You are welcome."

In the furor of triage and perimeter building, no one stopped long enough to notice the extra moment they spent lingering, nor the way one Commander buried a weary smile into the other's shoulder, or the way the other Commander seemed to press her lips into the other's close cropping of hair.

Then they were apart, the one in armor falling onto his back to rest, while the other grabbed up her kit and moved on.


	17. Dance

_Smile_

* * *

Dance.

* * *

Barriss spun, whirling from one clone to the next, laughing.

It was all incredibly silly. The mess had been transformed into an impromptu dance hall, with half the tables pushed up against the walls. Someone had rigged the in-ship communications channels to tap into the holonet, and found one of the music stations. Jump music was pouring out of the speakers affixed to the ceiling, loud enough to be heard over the cheers of the clones, but not quite so loud that it was thumping against the white walls of the mess.

They'd won their last battle. It'd been a rare rout, and they'd caught the Separatists entirely unprepared for their assault, plowing through their defenses with unexpected ease. Casualties were at a minimum, and there was a victory party raging through the 41st as a result.

She found herself squared off across from Gree again, grabbing his hands as they spun themselves around each other. She was sure she looked entirely ridiculous, but then, so did pretty much everyone else. Some of the men were in groups, flailing their arms around while they laughed at each other; some others seemed better at moving their bodies in tempo, their steps not nearly so wild. A pair of clones were on top of one of the tables, waving mugs of caf and bellowing something about the "brew of the brave and true", coming from somewhere called the "Green Dragon". They'd assembled quite an audience, and were receiving cheers for the performance.

Gree spun her around, her skirts twirling out, dark and elegant against what was otherwise an assembly of white; the room was all white walls and white armor. Gree released her hand, and Barriss spun out, finding herself caught and then swept upward off her feet, volta style, by Vin, with his hands under her arms, her feet swinging outward until he lowered her again, grinning down at her. Another hand tugged her away, spun her once. Barriss found herself face to face with a beaming Taler, who grabbed her hands before propelling them straight across the floor at a breathtaking pace. Barriss struggled to both keep up and not get trampled by Taler's enthusiasm.

It was hard not to be carried away by it all; usually the time after battles was solemn, serious, filled with time in the medical bay, mourning, and attempts to reestablish some sense of normalcy onboard. To see the men celebrating instead was heartening, and she'd found herself swept up into the fray accompanied by a round of cheers.

Cheers which now faded abruptly. The men bellowing the drinking song suddenly stopped, and stillness rippled out from the mess hall doors. Barriss found herself caught between Taler and Gree, her smile fading as men were quickly moving aside, and the music cut off mid-song.

Master Luminara Unduli was walking forward though the crowd, which parted quickly before her, suddenly entirely sober. She was frowning, and Barriss could not tell exactly what type of frown it was.

Gree cleared his throat, and both he and Taler straightened into more professional stances, straight and tall on either side of Barriss. Luminara came to a halt before her padawan, still frowning.

Barriss gave a small curtsy, bowing her head and folding her hands before her politely, wishing she could sink into the floor. Dancing in the mess hall with the clone troopers was undoubtedly not the kind of behavior her Master would approve of, and she flushed with embarrassment.

Luminara said, in clipped tones, "It seems I have been somewhat remiss in your training."

Barriss resisted a flinch, but not a grimace. Luminara continued, mildly, "Dancing does not merely mean sashaying wildly around the floor, padawan. Pick up your feet. It will not do to have a Jedi unable to move properly."

Barriss blinked, looking up at her Master again, who had a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Master?"

Luminara smiled more fully, arching a brow. "Did you think I would be upset that morale is currently high?" Barriss flushed and looked down again in embarrassment. Luminara chuckled, speaking more loudly for all to hear, "Whoever is in charge of the music may turn it back on. Though I do remind you we are en route to the Mid Rim, and will be arriving in a few hours. I expect to have troopers when we arrive rather than revelers."

There was a pause, then a fresh cheer went up from the whole room. Barriss beamed up at her Master, who returned it with an amused smile of her own. The music burst back on with a staccato roll of drums and a second roar of approval. Motion returned to the room.

A hand was extended off to Barriss' side, not to herself, but instead to her Master. Luminara's brows rose as she regarded Taler, who was grinning rather wickedly, in spite of how red in the face he was. "Can't say I do much more than sashay wildly, General, but I'd be honored."

Luminara tilted her head to the side, considering, then chuckled, placing her hand in Taler's. "I suppose one turn around the floor would be acceptable."

A series of whoops rose up around them from that statement, and Barriss laughed as Luminara rolled her eyes a bit in exasperation. There was still a bit of a smile on her Master's lips.

Another hand presented itself, this time to her. Gree was grinning. "Shall we join them?"

Barriss placed her hand in his, smiled and said, "Yes."

* * *

I know Luminara's usually all business, but I figured she's got to relax every once in awhile.

Thanks to everyone who suggested clone names awhile ago. I went with Vin and Taler, as suggested by FiresOfHope. Taler is a brave, brave man, trying to flirt with Luminara….

Anyone who knows what series "_The_ _only brew of the brave and true/Comes from the Green Dragon!_" comes from gets a cookie!

~Queen


	18. Ideals 1: Princess

_Smile_

* * *

Ideal 1. Princess.

* * *

He wasn't sure where he learned about fairy tales.

Cramming literature into the brains of young clone cadets was never a consideration on Kamino. Sometimes, he wondered if the Kaminoans thought the clones would run out of mental space, cluttering up their thoughts with stories instead of regulations and tactics. Stories were useless information for someone born only to fight. Somewhere, though, down the years, between training or battles, the basic plots behind the fairy tales filtered into his brain, tossed into a mélange of other trivia, all shaken up and duly shoved into the back of his mind. Stories were a curiosity, not quite useless, but useful only as a basic frame of reference during social situations. Fairy tales worked only as a weird mirror in comparison to his daily life.

He'd met a duchess. Also a former queen turned senator, though the interactions with each were always formal, work related, professional, brief. Knights with shining swords were quite common too, as were what amounted to their squires. It wasn't much of a stretch to envision certain Sith as the wicked witches and wizards that cast spells in the darkness, causing mayhem and destruction for the intrepid heroes to overcome. Perhaps there were no dragons, not the fire-breathing kind like the ones in the stories, but there were monsters out there too.

His armor wasn't shiny. It hadn't been in a very long time now, but it was white, all neatly piped in yellow-gold. It was a little thing that pleased him in a small kind of way, knowing there was at least a patina of that heroic image cast across himself as well. Even so, he was no knight, and the only time he shone with anything was when something exploded nearby, and the fire was reflected in the black of his helmet's visor.

He'd never met a princess. They frequently seemed to be the source of the problem, in the fairy tales that rattled around in his brain. Always needing rescuing, saving, finding, protecting, awakening…kissing. They were inspiring to their heroes, a goal, a dream, a promise of a happy ending. They were pretty and soft and all things feminine and elegant and needful.

There was something both appealing and annoying about the concept.

A blue sword sang not far away, bright and shining and cutting through the darkness. The holder was pretty and soft and all things elegant – but not needful. Never needful. The deepening shadows and scarlet light from a descending sun slanted through the trunks and branches of trees, and she danced between them far more naturally than she ever would in a candlelight filled ballroom. Her gown was black, simple and plain rather than fanciful and bright. It swirled around her just as elegantly as any waltzing princess' would.

She offered a different kind of inspiration.

Cody decided the only thing better than a beautiful princess was a warrior one.

* * *

Haven't done any Cody/Barriss in awhile in here and have been trying to think of some scenes for them. Somehow, random scenes lend themselves more easily to Gree/Barriss. Must be the proximity…anyway, this was one of those fics that popped into my head almost at random, and then wrote itself. Love it when that happens.

~Queen


	19. Ideals 2: Rebel

_Smile_

* * *

Ideal 2. Rebel.

* * *

Everything in his life was regimented.

From the day he was born, everything existed in perfect order. Little boys were strings of numbers that walked down pure white hallways to pure white rooms. Grey was the only break in the line of white, though sometimes it was spattered with bits of electronic aquamarine. Little boys with little faces, all the same, led around by white creatures with grey galaxies in their eyes and assonating voices. There was no color inside the buildings, the labs, the barracks.

As he grew older, the sound of methodical marching joined the blankness of the white; it was steady, rhythmic, soothing. The regularity felt safe, secure. Days were a steady march through time, of waking early, to pass through white corridors into white training halls, then to white cafeterias for grayish food and pale blue milk. The tramp of little boys' footsteps grew heavier with time, as the bodies the feet carried put on weight and bulk, muscle and sinew and names. But the order of the day never varied: wake, dress, train, eat, train, eat, train, undress, sleep.

Names were precious at first. They were little acts of defiance in the face of the dull rhythms of daily life. Little boys whispered them to each other quietly with wide eyes, half afraid they would be scolded for daring to be more than strings of numbers. Even as those little bits of uniqueness were ignored by the teachers and technicians and geneticists, the days drilled on as they always had.

Even those taken for special training, command training, independence training, were taught the same. There were days he wondered if the individuality, the creativity, he'd been taught to utilize in command, was simply another way of molding his mind, his personality, his thoughts and opinions. He was made from the same grey clay as every other, and even those in special training were receiving the same special training to become the same kind of independent.

He was always grounded by the life of a clone.

Above him, she was flying through the air, weapons drawn. Twisting, feet slowly rising overhead as she vaulted into the fight, her bright orange body served as a perfect contrast to the pale blue of a cloudless desert sky. She never moved with the steady regularity of soldiers. Every motion was fast, startling, swift. No movement wasted, and all of it light and irregular, perfect and deadly.

They were not where they were supposed to be, but he followed her orders and followed her into battle, and wanted to know what it felt like to rebel against gravity and orders, and defy every rule there should be in the galaxy, from gravity to hierarchy to expectations.

He feared for her, for the day her rebelliousness would not be the thing to make her fly, but rather the thing to bring her down.

But until that day, she would burn bright and beautiful and above, and Rex would think to himself that maybe she would never be contained.

And he would aspire to be the same.

* * *

I wanted to write something like this for awhile, and couldn't quite get the right setting/tone in my head. After '_Princess'_ randomly wrote itself, this came to mind. I love how _Clone Wars_ has been presenting us with some strong female characters to cheer for, and I'm glad we've got headstrong Ahsoka around.

~Queen


	20. Ideals 3: Knight

_Smile_

* * *

Ideal 3. Knight.

* * *

She used to read fairy tales when she was a girl.

The great Jedi archives had everything; if it could not be found there, it did not exist, according to the sagely librarian who managed it. Everything was there, from obscure scientific passages from millennia ago, to deep collections of stories from thousands of different worlds. As she read more, she found common themes, of magic and of tricksters, of girls who became swans or selkies, of quests and djinn and treasures. She'd read about them at night in her quarters, late after the other initiates went to sleep. It was a simple thing, to crawl under the covers and turn on the holobook, to let its blue glow fill the little tent she'd make of her blankets.

It was a private little world, just for herself. She was always in the middle; she was never the last in anything, but she was never the first either. Neither the slowest nor the fastest, neither the clumsiest nor the most adept. She was clever, but not brilliant. She earned praise and skill by hard work and steadiness of character rather than the sheer magnitude of her power. She knew she would be a knight someday, and there would be those who would look at her life and think it adventurous. Adventure, though, was mostly an indefinable mix of hard work and sheer terror, with a lofty goal in mind. She cherished the lofty goal, and prepared herself for the rest.

The fairy tales were safe. The diabolical men with blue beards and witches that lived to eat little children would remain safely on their electronic screens, trapped by the black letters that expressed their stories. There she could be the miller girl with no hands, the farmer's daughter that tricked the fox, the red hooded granddaughter that faced off against the _big bad_ wolf.

They faced the witches and the monsters she would someday have to face. _Be bold, be bold_, the stories urged, _but_ _not too bold_.

She'd stay there late, until her eyes grew heavy and the blanket-haven grew stuffy with her own warmth and breath. Then she'd surface for air and her room would seem a little too cold and conditioned.

She was meant to be a knight herself. She'd move through a galaxy full of dark lords and tricksters and monsters. She could not afford to be a princess, waiting for a kiss from a prince to wake her, save her. She was meant to do the saving. Happy endings to her adventures would be shaped by her own actions.

Her attention was drawn by the welcoming sight of blue blaster fire, swarming out of the darkening woods around her. Men in white armor, dirtied by a hundred battles and campaigns flanked her, strengthened her, supported her. One with battered gold piping reached her, stood beside her, covered her, defended her as she began her team's retreat. He was little different from the rest, the smattering of yellow color the only thing that defined him on the surface. He did not shine like a knight, but for the moment, he seemed as heroic as one.

Barriss did not mind playing princess just this once.

* * *

_Be bold, be bold, but not too bold – Lest your heart's blood shall run cold. _

Obviously, this is a companion piece to _Princess_.

The 'be bold, be bold, but not too bold' is taken from the English fairy tale _Mr. Fox_, which is a variation on the _Bluebeard_ fairy tale. I rather prefer _Mr. Fox_ to Charles Perrault's _Bluebeard_, honestly. If you're interested in it, you can find it in the "English" fairy tales section at www (dot) sacred (dash) texts (dot) com.

~Queen


	21. Ideals 4: Leader

_Smile_

* * *

Ideal 4. Leader.

* * *

She never really fit any expectations.

The Temple in which she lived was a quiet place, elegant with age and stately with its' own importance. The children that were raised there were taught to fill themselves with similar attributes. They spent their days learning, strengthening their minds and their bodies for the rigors of the lives laid out before them, heard stories of how they would be servants of the people, but whispered to each other at night that they would really grow up to be heroes. They were taught that they were special, and knew that though the other initiates around them were not their siblings by blood, they were made brothers and sisters in their gifts and their goals.

All the children were unique, and she was no different. Everyone was singular, whether it be in face or homeworld, manner or culture, race or class, and it was this wealth of differences that fed the richness of their home. They shared accents and games and attitudes, and were praised and patted and encouraged to develop what special skills they had, to weld them to the greater good of them all.

No one knew what to make of her; she was a precocious child, a little devil when she wasn't a little angel. She was brilliant and she was careless, prone to wandering off and hiding in places it would be hard to be found. She was loud when she was not quiet, attentive when she was not staring at the sky through the wide, sunlit windows of the training halls. She was terrible at meditating and excellent at dueling. She was the one to speak out, to question, to challenge. She always stood out, for one reason or another, and resisted most attempts to mold her into something more recognizably one of them.

She did not tie herself down with the expectations of others.

Below her, she could see the formation of troopers moving around the rocky protrusions in the sand. It shifted around them, obscuring their white armor as it blew and dusted everything in ochre. The river of blue light pouring forward from their blasters cut through the dullness of the ground and lit them up in a fierce blaze.

He was moving at the front, a bit of dull blue hemming in the white of his armor, brightened by the glow of the blasters and the harsh sun. The others followed him perfectly, all moving in unison, efficient, deadly, swift and resolute. He followed her, and they followed him, even when they weren't supposed to.

But she knew where she was needed, and she worried more for those she wanted to protect than for the consequences that may be drawn from her actions.

She envied the men on the ground, for their unity and their solidity and the reliability that accompanied them. She envied him the most because he was their leader and he was unyielding and strong and unshakeable, and did not fear making mistakes in the process of learning to lead. He already knew.

He was already the leader she struggled to become.

Reaching the earth, Ahsoka swept forward into the fight.

* * *

This is a companion piece to _Rebel_.

~Queen


	22. Relationships 1

_Smile_

* * *

Relationships 1.

* * *

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Of course, for awhile at least, she was the _only_ woman he'd ever seen, but still. There were a few others working at Ovid Outpost now, but Nadeh was still the prettiest, the most amazing, the best. And he got to work with her every day. She always looked adorable with her face all smudged with engine grease at the end of her shift, and her baggy grey deck uniform just highlighted how petite she was. And she had cool hair, and knew how to dye it. Jir wasn't into dyeing his hair like some of his brothers, but bleach blonde with blue streaks looked awesome on her. Made the little horns sprouting from her forehead look extra cute. And those cinnamon eyes! And her voice. No one could ever miss her lilting, honeyed…

"_CUTTER!__WHAT __IN__ ALL __THE__ CORELLIAN __HELLS __IS __THIS __MESS?__ GET __YOUR __ASS __OVER __HERE!_"

…voice like a pissed off drill sergeant. But, you know, one of the ones who only got mad because they _cared_. Yes, Nadeh was a truly lovely, perfect Zabrak woman, fully capable of taking apart an AT-TE and putting it back together again. She used _power __tools_.

Jir wanted to ask her out. There wasn't a lot on this rock other than a couple of piddling mining towns, but there was a nice little bar in the one not far from the outpost. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to go about asking her to accompany him.

"_CUTTER!__WHERE __DOES __YOUR __SHIT __BELONG? _I'll tell you_. __NOT __HERE!_"

Fortunately, he had little competition. Though Nadeh was, in his personal opinion at least, the most amazing of all the women on this planet (and certainly in the outpost) most of his brothers lived in fear of being clobbered by one of her hydrospanners and then disemboweled by a deftly-wielded screwdriver. Jir had gotten over this fear within the first week of arriving at Ovid. He worked with her a lot. Clean your shit up, do your job, be polite, and Nadeh was usually happy and not in the mood to eviscerate anyone.

Asking her to spend time with him socially, however, was an entirely different fear to overcome.

* * *

Ultimately, Jir turned to the holonet. His brothers all had about as much experience as him, which was roughly none, so he spent what free time he had studying the wisdom offered by the many "dating sites" available online.

He set aside his datapad and shut it down. With a deep breath, he stood. Today he would start with his plan.

Pick up lines. They seemed simple enough.

* * *

_Dating__ Wisdom __Item__#1: __Get __her __attention! __A__ smooth __pick up __is __a __good __starting__ place __to __getting __her __to __notice__ you_.

Her feet were sticking out from under a particularly well-trashed PTB-625 bomber, and there was an oil pan full of fluid sitting nearby her toolkit. Jir took up a place just beside her feet, and leaned his shoulder up against the engine casing, folding his arms across his chest and preparing to look pained. He had to have a good delivery.

He cleared his throat, loudly.

He was rewarded by her aggravated growl of "_Keepuna_!" and then something that sounded like it was near the sublight controller matrix received the wrath of her displeasure. There was a dull thumping sound as she whacked it with a hydrospanner and her feet kicked in irritation.

Jir coughed. There was another clanging noise, and Nadeh rolled out from under the engine, lifting her goggles up onto her forehead, just under the horns. Her hair was in its usual poofy pigtails and she had grease smudges on her face. He grinned. She scowled. "What, Jir?"

He blinked, then resumed his pained expression. Delivery. He'd rehearsed this at least a dozen times in front of the mirror. "Oh, my heart!" he moaned, clutching his chest.

Nadeh squinted at him, then lifted an eyebrow, concerned. "Jir, are you okay?"

So far, so good. Next line. He groaned, "It hurts! Can you fix it?"

Nadeh wrinkled her nose (she had a smudge across it) and frowned. "I'm a mechanic, Jir, not a cardiologist. This is the flight deck. If you've got heartburn, go see Kura in the medbay."

She then promptly rolled herself back under the bomber and started cursing again.

Jir frowned. Well, that didn't work the way he thought. He scratched the back of his head. Maybe he needed a different line? He hadn't rehearsed any more. He sighed. Back to the holonet.

* * *

_Dating Wisdom Item #2: Be sure you're paying full attention to her when you talk. Be attentive, make sure she knows your interest. Be bold! Smile! Look her in the eyes, caress her face with your gaze! Look at her cheeks, her chin, her neck! If you want to get her to go home with you, make sure she knows your intent! _

He caught her just as she was finishing up her shift, and was walking away from the deck. She looked tired, her shoulders a bit slumped, and one of her pigtails was half out of her hair. Maybe this would cheer her up? He grinned, feeling a little giddy. The first time she was just distracted. This time, he'd be direct, and obvious, and cheerful. Bold!

"Nadeh!" he beamed down at her, edging in close. She leaned back and tilted her head up, bleary-eyed.

"What, Jir?"

_Caress __her __face __with __your __eyes_. He took a breath and leaned down towards her, trying to meet her cinnamon gaze with his own, then looked at each part of her face individually. Cheeks, chin, neck, lips…lips…lips…nose! Forehead. Hair. Engine grease in hair. Ears. Jawline. Forehead. Horns.

"Uh, Jir?"

_Be __bold!_ He took in a shuddering breath. She couldn't miss the meaning of this one. It was a little forward, but at least she wouldn't think he had heartburn. "So," he said with a gulp – _remember __to __smile!_ – "Horny?"

She looked at him blankly for a second. Then her face contorted into outrage, and he had about two seconds to realize he said something very, very wrong. Then he had roughly .5 seconds to realize her fist was flying at his face, then another .5 seconds to realize _damn __she __has __a __mean __right __hook_, and then another two seconds before his face was introduced to the floor.

"_WHAT__ KIND__ OF __SICK__ SPECIESIST __POODOO__ IS __THAT, __BUCKETHEAD?_" Then there was a long, disturbing string of obscenities in Zabraki that roughly translated into something insulting about his mother and a bantha, from what he could tell. Of course, he didn't have a mother and had no idea where a bantha came into the humanoid reproductive process, but the gist seemed to be she didn't appreciate comments about her horns.

She was actually really pretty when she was angry (she got all pink-faced) but he definitely preferred seeing her pretty-angry at someone else (usually Cutter, the slob) and not at him. It was safer that way.

He groaned, and Nadeh stomped off, still muttering something about banthas.

* * *

_Dating Wisdom Item #3: Give her compliments! Tell her she's beautiful, especially after a bad day. Women love to know they're attractive to you. Be sincere. _

That would be easy. Nadeh was always beautiful, especially when she had grease smudges on her face (which was often). Something about her looking scruffy made him want to reach out and wipe the smudges away, and see her skin underneath. She was a nice, light brown-gold, under the oil. Jir's face softened at the thought of cupping her face with his hands and rubbing off the dirt with his thumbs. This one _had_ to work. And hopefully she'd understand that he _liked_ her horns (which were a nice shade of ivory and looked translucent at the edges in the right lighting).

He found her wandering her way in the general direction of the showers. And it was obvious she'd had a bad day, which hopefully meant the compliment would be all the more appreciated. She was drenched in machine lubricant. Usually, she just had smudges, but it looked like a fuel line had ruptured all over her, and she was caked in grey goop. There were footprint-shaped puddles down the hallway behind her, and she squelched as she walked. She also looked like she had an unfortunate run in with a bottle of dye, and her usually blonde-blue hair was now an incredible shade of neon orange.

Jir stayed a little bit out of punching-range, though, just in case. "Nadeh!"

She scowled. "What, Jir?"

How long had he wanted to tell her this? Sincerity was easy and he smiled, feeling warm. "You look beautiful."

Her cinnamon eyes narrowed into a glare. He started to sweat, and smiled a little wider. Sincerity! Sincerity! He meant it!

"Jir," she said with a terrifying calm, "I am covered head to toe in grease, and my hair looks like I stuck my finger in a power output module. Are you _trying_ to be a smartass?"

He was sweating heavily now. "No, really I think you look beautiful!"

She rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Jir. Now get out of my way so I can rinse off the starfighter puke."

* * *

_Dating Wisdom Item #4: If the subtle approach doesn't work, be direct! Man up and tell her you're taking her out! _

Her door slid open with a whoosh, and for a moment, he gaped. So _that_ was what women's sleepclothes looked like. Purple, functional, with buttons down the front and long pants that puddled on the floor. Not too different from his, but, well, more girly. Nadeh looked adorably sleepy, and her hair was in a giant, fluffy orange halo around her head. He grinned down at her. She looked up at him blearily.

"We're going out for dinner!" he announced, puffing out his chest.

She blinked at him once, then mumbled around a yawn, "Huh? I have the evening shift this week, Jir. Go away so I can finish sleeping."

Then she shut the door in his face.

* * *

_Dating Wisdom Item #5: Women are always looking for a long-term mate. Show her that you're stable, mature, and have a future planned for yourself. Make sure she knows you're ready to settle down with her and start a family. _

Jir frowned and scratched the back of his head. Long-term. Long-term would be nice, but there was always the chance he'd get shipped off elsewhere. He liked Ovid Outpost – it was a pretty good job, overall, and he liked fixing engines and fighters and walkers. He could fight as well as the next clone, but fixing things made him happy. He didn't need the glory of the front lines and battle. He was pretty happy with support work, really. All things considered, he did have one of the more "stable" jobs in the GAR, and there wasn't a big chance he'd be moved anytime soon. Would that be stable enough? Long-term enough?

The thought of settling down with Nadeh made him stare off into the distance with a rather silly smile on his face. He particularly liked the idea of rolling under a bomber with her to fix the engine, and trading kisses in the process. They could share hydrospanners. And he could wipe smudges off her face. And she'd smile at him. More than usual.

He cornered her in a turbolift.

"…I should be at Ovid Outpost for awhile. Maybe even the whole war. And I'm hoping to reach up to Petty Officer, first class, sometime next year." He finished with a rush. Had he forgotten anything? He frowned, looking down at Nadeh, whose eyes were enormous in her face. It was clean today, she hadn't gone to work yet. She'd also fixed her hair back to normal blonde, but now she had green tips. She was pinned into one of the turbolift's corners, almost curling in on herself. Her mouth was slightly gaping. What had he forgotten? Oh! Family! "And I like kids! I think. I've never actually met any, except for some of the younger cadets back on Kamino."

She blinked up at him. "Jir?"

"Yes?" he asked hopefully. Had it worked?

"You're seriously freaking me out. Why are you giving me your resume and talking about kids?"

He managed to keep from groaning, but not from hanging his head. Why did nothing work? The holonet sites always had lots of positive reviews in the comments. Granted, a lot of them were misspelled and had some really strange grammatical errors, but they all seemed so hopeful. Was he not following the directions on the holonet right? "I thought you'd want to know?"

Nadeh grimaced, and he sighed. He'd done something wrong again. Was Nadeh just too special for these tactics? "Jir, seriously, back off before I slug you again."

He closed his eyes. _Back __off_. It wasn't that the tactics weren't working – she just wasn't interested in him. He nodded and stepped back with a sigh.

When the turbolift doors opened, she bolted, and when they closed, he turned to the wall and began to bang his head into it.

* * *

Opti Lunn was a grizzled old bounty hunter that occasionally swung through Ovid to drop off his "catches". He was mostly small time, and stayed pretty local, meaning he was generally somewhere within a hundred parsecs and chasing petty criminals. But the old human man had been around for awhile, and wasn't a brother, and so was much more likely to have experience with women.

And Jir at least knew him. He didn't know many local men, at least not in any substantial capacity. He'd at least traded a few jokes with Lunn, when he needed his rattletrap excuse for a transport ship fixed so he could go find some other spice racketeer to bring in.

Maybe the old man would be able to impart some advice. Face-to-face. Man-to-man. Jir asked him if he'd like to get a drink, after work.

"Women," Lunn sighed deeply, nodding over his ale in the outpost's tiny cantina. It was late, and it was just the two of them and the serving droid behind the counter. Lunn was nodding thoughtfully, humming to himself. It looked promising. Obviously, he had some great wisdom to impart. Eager, Jir leaned forward, elbows on the table, his face intent on the old man.

"There's one thing I've learned about women…." Lunn intoned sagely.

Jir nodded earnestly.

The old bounty hunter leaned forward, dark eyes intent. "Don't talk about killing shit with them. They don't like it." He nodded once, in satisfaction, then picked up his ale and began to drink.

Jir introduced his forehead to the table, several times.

* * *

_Dating Wisdom #6: If you follow this advice, you'll surely win the heart of the girl of your dreams! But if she somehow manages to decline your charms, face up to her like a man. _

Nadeh was sitting at one of the benches near her work area, cleaning one of her larger hydrospanners with a cloth.

Jir dropped down onto the other end of the bench. Nadeh glanced at him, nodded curtly in greeting, then went back to her polishing. He leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Hm?" Nadeh paused in her cleaning and looked at him for a moment. "For what?"

"The last couple weeks."

"Oh, so you realized you were acting like an ass."

He frowned and hung his head. "Can you at least tell me why? Do you like one of my brothers better? It better not be Cutter."

Nadeh blinked at him once, hard, then gave him a bewildered look. "Cutter? What are you talking about?" Her rag and 'spanner hung loosely in her grimy hands. Her nose was wrinkled up (Currently free of grease, but there was some on her chin. Almost as good.).

But had he failed that miserably? Jir hung his head.

"Jir, spit it out, you're acting weird again."

"I've been trying to follow the directions, but it never works."

Nadeh made an aggravated noise, and put her hydrospanner back into her toolkit and tossed the rag on top of it, before sliding a few inches closer. "Directions for what?"

He kept his head down, but balled up his fists. _Face__ rejection __like__ a__ man_. He grimaced. He could still be manly looking at his feet. "Asking you out."

"You've been trying to ask me out?" she asked, sounding confused, then peeved. "By doing what? Telling me you have heartburn, insulting my species and ogling me?"

He winced. It _sounded_ like such a good idea on the holonet. "The holosite said the pickup lines were guaranteed."

There was a snort, and he glanced over at Nadeh, who's eyebrows were near to her hairline and her arms were folded. "And being a smartass?"

"You _did_ look pretty." She rolled her eyes. "Really!" he insisted. She looked at him skeptically, her mouth puckering and twisting to the side.

"Waking me up in the middle of my sleep cycle?"

"The holonet said I should be more manly and just tell you we were going out."

For a moment, she just goggled at him, then she covered her face with a hand and breathed in deeply through her nose, releasing it slowly. "Jir, you're a 1.8 meter tall musclebound mechanic trained since birth to blow shit up and rip droids apart with your bare hands. You're trying to be _more_ manly? Seriously? Who the hell's telling you what manly means?" She rolled her eyes. "Oh wait, the holonet, right?"

"Well…" he trailed off. When she put it that way, it did sound kind of lame. Though it was nice for her to imply he was pretty manly already. That made him feel a _little_ bit better.

She sighed again, and gave him an exasperated look. "And the part where you scared the shit out of me in the turbolift? Cornering women alone and acting like a nutter is not attractive, Jir."

He looked at her, confused and a little dismayed. A sick feeling started to well up in his gut. Scare her? Corner her? She was _Nadeh_, she wasn't scared of anything. He'd screwed up. He hung his head again, this time burying his face in his hands. "The holonet said women want to settle down with someone serious who wants a family."

It started off soft, the noise. Then it got slowly louder, until he realized it was a chuckle, and by the time he turned his head to look back at her again, she was laughing outright, and her face was turning that shade of pretty-pink, except this time because she was laughing, not screaming at someone. There were tears starting to leak out of the corners of her eyes, and her head was tossed back, showing the fine line of her neck, and her green-tipped hair was shaking in its pigtails. Then she doubled over, and the tears made it down onto her cheeks as she howled.

Jir started reddening with embarrassment. He'd tried so hard. He didn't know rejection would involve this much laughter, though. It kind of hurt even more than he expected.

She laughed his name. "Jir." When he didn't respond, he felt her close the remaining space between them, her arm pressing against his. Then his hands were being pulled away from his face and she was tugging him towards her. Her face was still pink (with the smudge on her chin) and there were tears on her cheeks that were just starting to dry, and her lips were quirked into something like a smirk. "You're cute, you know that?"

He blinked, confounded, and it took several seconds for him to register that something soft was pressing against his cheek. Lips. _Nadeh__'__s_ lips. She was kissing him on the cheek. _Nadeh_ was kissing him on the cheek. With her lips. Her _lips_.

"Kind of an idiot," she continued, once her lips left his cheek, "but cute." She was still holding his hands in hers. She squeezed his once, before releasing them and standing up.

She kissed him on the cheek with her lips. Jir's eyes glazed over and a lopsided grin started to spread over his face. He got a kiss from Nadeh. On the cheek. But a kiss from Nadeh. And she hadn't gutted him with her screwdriver, bashed him in the head with her hydrospanner, or slugged him with her monstrous strength (because _damn_ she had a mean right hook).

"Nadeh?" he asked, a little dazed, a little tentative.

"What?" she closed the lid of her toolkit, grabbed it by the handle, and straightened.

"Will you get dinner with me?"

"No."

The galaxy came crashing down between one blink and the next. He stared at her, a little gape mouthed, but she still had her lips quirked in that smirky-smile of hers. "No?"

The smirk spread into a grin. "No. I'm just taking my break now, I've got the evening shift this week, remember?"

Crestfallen, he sighed. Still no good.

"But I get off at 22:00." She turned and started to walk away. "I can meet you in the cantina for a drink then. Later, Jir." She waved as she moved off. He stared after her. Was something wrong with her legs? Her hips were swaying more than usual. He grinned. Maybe she hurt her foot. He could ask her later…on their date.

* * *

Nadeh was just walking through the arch leading towards the break room when she heard a triumphant war whoop from behind her.

Quietly, she laughed. "Idiot."

But, apparently, her idiot.

* * *

I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. There will be one more Jir and Nadeh (mis)adventure coming up next.

~Queen


	23. Relationships 2

**Author****'****s****Note**: Wow. I cannot believe I am saying this, but this may very well be the first M rated thing I've ever written – it's at least a strong T. There is nothing explicit or graphic in here, but there is a **LOT** of innuendo and sexual references, so if that sort of thing bothers you, you might want to skip this chapter.

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Relationships 2.

* * *

"You know," she said, her voice taking on a strange sort of purr, "that took much less time than we thought it would."

Jir beamed. It was nice to get ahead on work. The Rigger freighter they thought had a bad motherboard turned out to only have a loose cable that needed tightening. A job that should have taken a half hour took about five minutes instead. He placed the panel back into the compartment in the floor and fit it into place until he heard it lock in. Nadeh was kneeling just across from him, smiling in a way that made his throat tighten and his stomach twist around in interesting ways. Her cinnamon eyes were heavy lidded, and her lips quirked to the side in the way they got when she was amused by something.

"We can get a start on that V-19 that came in this morning," he suggested brightly as he stood up and set his toolkit aside. She liked the V-19's, they had some amazing maneuverability due to their S-foils. The repulsorlifts on them were state-of-the-art, it was great digging around inside them. They were always getting upgraded, too. They had one of the newer models coming out of Slayn & Korpil out on deck. The Verpines always did amazing work. He grinned at her, expecting her to be just as excited.

She was smiling, but instead of jumping up, she was still sitting on the floor, her legs tucked neatly under her. Her uniform was unbuttoned further than usual and he could see the white tank she wore under the grey outfit when she leaned forward. "Jir," she said, patting the floor beside her. "Come sit with me for a minute, will you?"

He didn't see any reason why not, though he wasn't sure why. Had he missed something in the repairs?

He sat down beside her and folded his legs, wondering what was wrong. Before he could ask, though, Nadeh swung her legs out over his, so that she was effectively draped over his lap. Startled at the movement, he turned towards her, just in time to feel her arms slide around his neck and her mouth come crashing into his in an unexpectedly glorious display of lip-locked affection.

When he thought about first kisses, he always thought it'd be after a date, not in the middle of the workday while hiding in an old Rigger.

That was about as far as his brain got before it shut down, and he was caught up in smushing his mouth with Nadeh's.

* * *

The cold water was cold.

Lesson one about random make out sessions in the middle of the day while hiding in freighters with your girlfriend: snogging Nadeh had uncomfortable, rather embarrassing side effects that were only mitigated by the general bagginess of his old deck uniform.

Jir decided abruptly that the shower was now too cold, and he was definitely done with the side effects of lip-locking with Nadeh. He shut off the water.

He grinned at the ceiling for a minute with a dazed smile on his face. Twenty minutes. They'd been in there kissing for _twenty__minutes_. She'd let him wipe smudges off her face, and then…his grin broadened. He knew women were supposed to be softer under their clothes but he had no _idea_ she'd fit in his hands like _that_. And he must have done _something_ right because she kept making these little breathy hiccups and wriggling around in his lap (which led to the rather problematic side effect between his legs).

What if she wanted to do that again? He almost laughed out loud, but then his grin faded. What if she wanted to do _more_ than that?

He hadn't really had time to think about it when they were kissing. Sure, he'd thought about kissing her for months now, pretty much since they met when he arrived at Ovid Outpost, but the reality was much more intense than he expected. And Nadeh wasn't like him. She hadn't lived in barracks her whole life.

Jir frowned as he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. The last couple weeks had been nice, and the kissing was _really_ nice (more of that, definitely). But it didn't end there. He and his brothers may not have a lot of experience, but they were all quite aware of what they were missing out on. There were more than a few posters of underclad females plastered on the walls of the barracks.

He was one of the lucky ones. And he didn't want to screw it up, either.

* * *

Jir plopped himself down on the edge of his bunk with a sigh. There was really no choice; he had to use the holonet again. This time, he knew any directions he found were not necessarily going to be useful, but at least they might give him some idea of what to do if things ever _did_ progress beyond kissing (and it would be kind of awesome if they did). Technically speaking, he knew where everything went, but basic training was just that – basic. Nadeh deserved more than basic, and she was already dating a standard model. He had to be better than standard – he had to be stellar.

The blank screen of his datapad stared back up at him. He summoned up a search engine, thought for a moment about what to enter, and finally tried the most obvious string of words he could think of: _how __to __have __sex_.

.0000012 seconds later, a list of results came up. Jir tilted his head to the side, wrinkling his brow in confusion. Why would the top results for "_how __to __have __sex__" _involve _droids_? Nadeh wasn't a droid. Who the kriff would want to have sex with a droid and _why_? Useless and bizarre. He cleared the search and tried again: _sex __maneuvers_.

The results this time simply made no sense. He tilted the datapad to the side, almost as though putting it in a better position would render the results more comprehensible. What was a "Double Dewback"? "Galloping Gurrcat"? "Cracian Thumper"? "Tauntaun Topper"? He squinted at the screen in disbelief. This sounded more like a list for a zoo.

The door to the barracks opened with a swish, and Sergeant Fray stepped in, pulling his helmet off as he emerged into the room. Fray was one of the oldest of the clones Jir had ever met, from one of the earliest batches. He was already starting to go grey around the temples, giving him a rather distinguished, big brotherly kind of look. Jir glanced down at his datapad thoughtfully. He only talked to the sergeant when it was really necessary; he usually reported directly to the Senior Chief Petty Officer who oversaw the work on the flight deck.

But Fray was awake, usually friendly, and the only other brothers in the room were sleeping on their respective racks. He frowned, then lifted his head as Sergeant Fray walked by.

"Uh, Sarge?" he called out, a little nervously as he stood up. The older man paused, then turned towards him with a polite smile as he tucked his helmet under his arm.

"Jir. Everything alright down on deck?"

"Yes, sir. I have a personal question, sir. About some research I'm doing."

The sergeant's brows lifted, and his posture eased from the polite formality of work to the more relaxed pose of off-duty. He nodded once, still smiling faintly, for Jir to continue. Jir looked down at the list again, a little apprehensively. "Sir, what's a…Backwards Bantha?"

Now that he thought of it, Nadeh _had_ been muttering something about banthas and the humanoid reproductive process that time when she punched him. Maybe this had something to do with it? He _had_ wondered what in the world she was talking about.

Sergeant Fray was giving him a funny look. Carefully, he said, "Jir, I heard you've been escorting one of your civilian coworkers around a bit, after hours?"

Jir's face lit into a massive smile. "Nadeh's amazing, sir!"

Sarge nodded his head again, sagely. "I see. Well, Jir, when a man and a woman really like each other, they often choose to engage in tactical intimacy operations. Those operations often have specific code names for the particular maneuvers involved. I believe that is one such designation."

Ohhhh. Well, that made sense. The maneuvers had names, like orders had numbers. Like in a reg manual. He looked at the datapad again. Well, if it was just a matter of memorizing the correct code names and their appropriate maneuvers, he could do that. He beamed. "Thanks, Sarge!"

Sergeant Fray nodded formally and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck, Jir."

"Thank you, sir!"

* * *

Jir twisted his neck to the side. Then to the other side. Then he sort of twisted his body around at the waist, all while holding the glowing datapad up in front of him.

He had no idea humans could _bend_ that way. To be honest, he wasn't sure _he_ could bend that way. Could _Nadeh_ bend that way?

Jir considered that for a moment, while his eyes glazed over, his cheeks flushed, and his jaw hung slightly open.

So distracted was he with the concept of successfully accomplishing the "Backwards Bantha" maneuver, (since it was apparently one Nadeh knew?) Jir did not, at first, notice the door to the barracks slide open and Cutter step through, making his way past the bunks towards his own. Cutter, of course, could not help but notice the dazed, reddened expression Jir was wearing as he stared vacantly at the ceiling with his datapad in his lap.

Cutter came to a stop just to the right of the end of Jir's bunk, folded his arms across his chest and said, "Porn?"

Jir snapped to attention, almost jolting out of his bed, but managed to keep himself from flying out of his own skin. He shot Cutter a glare. "Training."

Cutter lifted a brow and grinned. Jir scowled. Cutter laughed and moved off towards his own bunk. Jir continued to scowl at the other man until he was settling in to his own sleeping space, then returned to the instructional diagrams and frowned at them. Cutter interrupting him had made him self-conscious, but he needed to study. Gritting his teeth, he resolutely turned his back on the direction of Cutter's bunk.

It was about then that a small red icon began blinking in the upper corner of his datapad. A personal message? He opened it with the flick of a finger, and scowled as he read the message, then simply became puzzled.

_Jir, _

_From my personal collection. You can thank me by telling your psycho girlfriend to stop screaming at me so frakking much. _

_-Cutter_

A glance towards Cutter revealed that he was laying back on his bunk, on top of the blanket, with his hands behind his head, his eyes closed, and his datapad beside him. Cutter was trying to _help_? With his personal collection of _what_? Jir tapped a second red icon at the bottom of the message, and a display of tactical intimacy diagrams began scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

Jir's eyes widened as he realized what Cutter was offering, then he replied,

_Cutter – _

_You can get her to stop kicking your ass if you clean your shit up and stop acting like a di'kut to her all the time. _

_Thanks. _

_Jir._

The reply came back a few moments later.

_Jir, _

_Too much work. _

_You're welcome, lucky bastard. _

_-Cutter_

When Jir glanced over at his brother, Cutter was powering off his datapad and setting it on the floor next to him, completely ignoring any looks sent his way as he crawled under his blanket, turned his back towards Jir, and went to sleep.

For a long moment, Jir stared at Cutter's back, then smiled.

* * *

The old bounty hunter had apparently decided he and Jir were now friends.

That was okay. Jir liked people, and Lunn was a good guy, if a little eccentric. And even though his advice last time hadn't been terribly helpful, he'd been willing to sit down and have a drink. Which was what they were doing now, at Lunn's request. The cantina wasn't full, but there were a few brothers at one of the booths in the back corner, talking animatedly and occasionally breaking into laughter. Jir and Lunn sat at one of the few small, round tables in front of the bar area, where the server droid was cleaning glasses.

"Been taking my advice, son?" the old man asked, taking a long pull of his ale.

Considering his advice was to not talk to Nadeh about killing shit, it was fairly easy advice to take. They mostly talked about ships, mechanics, and some of the other technicians (a process also known as gossiping). And now there was making out, too, which somehow was even better than debating her over whether the Verpines made better ships or weapons. He nodded and grinned. "Yes, sir."

Lunn made a hum of approval as he took another swig. "Good boy. I take it you've won your lady friend's heart?"

Jir beamed. He'd at least won make out sessions.

Lunn chuckled, set his ale aside and leaned forward. "One more thing, then," he said, and Jir leaned closer, sensing some impending nugget of wisdom about to come from the older man. Lunn looked him dead in the eye and said, firmly and seriously, "Even if you're trying to give her a compliment, whatever you do, son – don't compare her to a Nar Shaddaa whore. She won't like it." He leaned back in his chair, picked up his ale, and lifted it in Jir's direction, making a silent toast before taking a long drink.

Jir reintroduced his forehead to the table.

* * *

"You know, you usually do that in your bunk."

Captain Maki was grinning at him, and Jir reddened. The break room was empty beside the two of them, and Maki wasn't standing particularly close as he poured himself a cup of caf, so he had thought he'd be able to keep studying the diagrams while he ate lunch. He and Nadeh were starting their string of day shifts tomorrow, which meant they'd have a free evening, which meant they would eat dinner together, (hopefully in the town not in the cafeteria) which meant they would be on a date, which would mean kissing and maybe tactical intimacy operations.

He pulled his datapad a bit closer to his chest, and the Captain laughed outright. "Sorry, sir, I'll – "

"Nah," Maki said as he set his caf down and pulled out a chair beside Jir's, turning it around so he could lay his arms across the top of the back. "Studying?"

Jir scratched the back of his head, awkwardly, earning another laugh from Maki.

"Don't worry about it. I was where you are now about a month and a half ago. Which is why I'm here." The smile on the Captain's grew more serious. "You need to go see Kura."

It took Jir several seconds to process that entire statement. He wasn't sure why he needed to go see the doctor, (he was perfectly healthy) but he was even more unsure of what the Captain meant by being in the same place he was. The Captain wasn't dating anyone. News like that spread like wildfire. He would _know_, and if he didn't, then Nadeh would, and Nadeh would tell him.

"Consider it an order, if you want," Maki continued at Jir's bewildered silence. "But go see Kura and tell her I talked to you. She'll know what you need."

Well, if the Captain was ordering him to the medical bay, then he had to go, but it was kind of a strange order. "I'll go after my shift, sir."

The Captain smiled and stood, picking up his still-steaming caf and nodding once in satisfaction. "Good to hear," he said as he turned and took a step back towards the door. Then he paused and turned halfway back towards Jir and added, with a particularly sly grin, "Be sure to try the Tauntaun Topper."

And the Captain was back out the door before Jir could muster a reply.

* * *

Of all the women at Ovid Outpost, Dr. Kura was, by far, the most admired. Jir had been there to see her arrival, when she disembarked from her transport. He understood his brothers infatuation – he'd goggled along with the rest of them (though was berating himself five minutes later for betraying his beloved and amazing Nadeh). Dr. Kura was almost overwhelmingly gorgeous, and looked more like one of the pinup girls on the posters in the barracks than the stereotypical image of a doctor.

She _was_ Zeltron, after all.

Her purple hair flowed down her back in elegant waves, the rich pinkness of her skin was flawlessly smooth, and her pale green eyes were the color of the sea. She was also incredibly busty, a fact that was not well covered by her drab lab coat. However, she also had a fondness for form fitting pants and sparkly heels, and for some reason Captain Maki never spoke to her about the dress code. It was a little confusing, but whenever questioned about it, Maki would grin goofily and say something about it being good for morale.

In spite of her extreme popularity among the clones on-base, few ever willingly went to her medbay, at least not anymore. Jir paused just outside the closed doors, gulped, then stepped forward enough that the doors swished open to admit him.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"HOLD STILL, DAMMIT!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Gheeaych, sedate him!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH – " _THUNK_.

Jir stared. Howl slumped down onto one of the biobeds, the outpost's GH-7 medical droid hovering uncertainly beside him. Dr. Kura sighed and straightened, rolled her eyes, picked up a pair of tweezers from the tray beside her, picked up Howl's hand, and pulled out what appeared to be a rather ugly splinter. "Idiot," Kura muttered, tossing the splinter onto the tray. She glanced narrowly over at him, reached up, and brushed a long, lavender ponytail back over her shoulder. "What, do you have a splinter too?"

Dr. Kura was also generally considered about as terrifying as Nadeh. Her favorite weapons were Gheeaych's sedation needle and her hypospray. She also had laser scalpels and a sniper's aim.

The men who thought they were going to get anywhere with her by pretending to be sick or injured learned not to do that, no matter how close it got them to her breasts.

Jir's mouth opened and closed several times before he wheezed, still staring at the unconscious Howl, "Captain?"

Dr. Kura's expression darkened still further, and she folded her arms across her ample chest. "What _about_ Maki?"

He'd take a pissed off Nadeh over a pissed off Dr. Kura any day. Nadeh didn't throw laser scalpels, at least. Jir gulped again. "Told me to see you and you would know?"

Dr. Kura's (dark purple) lips puckered thoughtfully, then her eyes lit and she smiled sunnily, a disturbing about-face from her expression two seconds earlier. "Oh, you're _Jir_!" she exclaimed before turning back to Gheeaych and ordering sharply, "Wrap up his hand and send him on his way when he wakes up, and tell him to stop making up bullshit excuses to stare at my boobs."

"Yes, Ma'am!" Gheeaych replied, her voice quavering a little as she hovered anxiously at Howl's bedside.

Dr. Kura was approaching Jir rapidly, beaming, her arms outstretched in welcome. "I told Maki, 'Maki, my dear friend Nadeh is spending a lot of time with one of your men, and he's probably just as bad as you, so you tell him to get in here so I can take care of things.' Only took him two weeks, the dolt. I _told_ him this was important. Jir, you sit there," she ordered, bustling him towards a biobed while she hurried over to one of the counters and began pulling hyposprays and an assortment of other medical equipment out.

Jir started to sweat as he eased himself onto the edge of the bed. What was going on? Should he run for it? Make a strategic retreat? Dr. Kura was acting even more mercurial than usual. Before he could contemplate a coherent query, Dr. Kura was spinning around, smiling cheerfully and wielding a loaded hypospray at his neck.

"GYAH!"

"That's the first one!" she said warmly as Jir clutched his now-aching neck and groaned. Had she no mercy? Dr. Kura seemed oblivious to his discomfort while she loaded another round into her hypospray. "That was the contraceptive. Honestly, _what_ those Kaminoans thought they were doing I have no idea. An army of virgins? How terrifying. You'd think they'd include standard contraceptives in your annual exams, same as everyone else."

The hypospray flew towards Jir's neck again, this time at the other side. "GAAAH!"

"That was the vaccination. It takes care of all your common sexually transmitted diseases for humanoids, along with some of the more exotic ones, just in case you get more adventurous than I expect. You'll probably feel a little tired for the next few hours while your body adjusts, but you should be fine by tomorrow night." She beamed at him through the entire monologue, but then her expression went from sunny to deadly serious, her voice dropping in pitch to something distinctly threatening. "Hurt Nadeh, and you'll find out exactly how much pain I can instill with a hypo and some laser scalpels. Understood?"

Jir nodded rapidly. Dr. Kura's expression returned instantly to sunshine, and she grinned at him, clapping him on the shoulder and pushing him up off the table. "Good! I'll be sending a few documents to your datapad with necessary sexual health information. I assume you're still just looking at porn?"

Jir managed to give her a bewildered, glazed look. Dr. Kura waved a hand carelessly. "Never mind. Just read the documents I'll send you. Your health is important. Stupid Kaminoans. Presuming abstinence, bah. Get going, Jir. You shouldn't have allergies to the vaccinations, but let me know if you feel ill or have any questions."

Then he was shoved unceremoniously out the medbay doors, still not entirely sure what just happened, though his brain had latched onto one, random fact he'd managed to infer. He said it aloud to an empty hallway: "Captain Maki is dating Dr. Kura. _Whoa_."

* * *

The bar was dimly lit and smelled like smoke and fried food. The booth they were occupying in the back corner was about as private a location as the bar offered, which was just fine with Jir. There were a few locals from the town filling the other tables, but the back corner let him sit with Nadeh without interruptions. She was looking particularly adorable tonight, in baggy pants, a grey tank top, and bright pink hair in its usual pigtails on either side of her head.

She also was curled up against his side, cheek resting against his shoulder. The remains of their eaten food lay spread out on the table before them. Life was more or less perfect at that moment. Nadeh was wonderfully warm and soft, and he'd decided hugely busty women wielding hyposprays were not his type, which was good, because Nadeh wasn't hugely busty (though she did have a very nice bust) and preferred hydrospanners (which he generally liked as well, so long as they weren't aimed at his head).

She looked wonderfully comfortable just reclining against him, her arms wrapped around one of his. He flushed a little bit, then angled his head down, avoiding the delicate vestigial horns sprouting from the top of her forehead, and kissed the thin skin just below them. She lifted her head and honored him with a lazy smile, then scooted upward and closer and kissed him on the mouth.

Nadeh still tasted like the ale she had with dinner. He grinned, and she paused, looking up at him with amusement, before quickly kissing the corner of his mouth and then working her way across his cheek to his jaw.

Then she slipped a hand onto his thigh and he froze. Was this an opening sequence? Was she hinting at one of the maneuvers? Was he supposed to know which one already? Was he doing it wrong? Should he be encouraging her? They were still kind of in public. No, no, this was just preparation for the operation. Like a briefing before operations began. But _which_ operation? The Tauntaun Topper? The Gurrcat? He should say something. See if he could get her to clue him in? Something romantic. About how pretty she was. And if she wanted to go home? But in a sly, suggestive manner so she knew he was ready for tactical intimacy. Yes.

Then Nadeh slid her hand up his thigh, while nipping the particularly soft bit of flesh just behind the curve of his jaw and below his earlobe.

"I got a contraceptive hypo!"

Jir paused. Wait, that didn't come out right….

Nadeh was blinking up at him with enormous cinnamon eyes. Then her head quirked to one side and she said, drily, "That's…good to know, Jir."

He hung his head. That didn't come out at all right. Though if it was good to know, maybe he hadn't completely screwed things up? He shot Nadeh a hopeful look, which resulted in a quiet chuckle. She pulled slightly back, though continued her contact against him. He sighed. "I've been trying to prepare for tactical intimacy operations, but –"

He was interrupted by a fresh gasp of laughter, and Nadeh leaning further way from him while she tried not to double over. She covered her mouth with a hand and smothered her laughter, struggling to pull a straight face. After a moment, she gasped out, "'_Tactical__ intimacy__ operations__'__?_Jir, it's sex, not a secret spy mission." Her laughter continued to lighten, and she looked at him with an amusement that was wonderfully gentle. She placed a hand on the side of his face and caressed his cheek fondly. "You're sweet, you know that? Kind of weird, but sweet."

Jir flushed, partly from embarrassment, but partly because of the warmth in her gaze. Her thumb grazed his cheek again, and she leaned in and gave him a lingering, but chaste kiss on the lips. "I'm glad you're so enthusiastic, Jir, but honestly?" She brushed her knuckles against his cheek and then let her hand fall back to her side. "We've only been trying to date what, three weeks now? I'm not quite ready for…" she grinned wickedly, "'_tactical__ intimacy __operations__'_ with you yet. Judging by how freaked out you are, I'm thinking you're probably not either."

She planted another soft, lingering kiss on his cheek, then withdrew far enough to smile at him in a way that was kind and sly and full of promise all at once.

And he found that he was - just a little bit – relieved.

* * *

Nadeh's hair (still pink, now with red tips) spilled out across the pillow like a tangled up fan. She lay on her side, curled up with one hand lying, open palmed, just in front of her face. The other lay in the middle of his bare chest.

With one hand, he tugged the blanket higher up, and scooted infinitesimally closer to her. She responded by groggily opening her eyes and snuggling closer, wrapping her arms around the closest one of his before drifting back to sleep with a drowsy, contented mumble.

He hadn't planned it, and he suspected Nadeh hadn't either. She'd wanted to change clothes before they went for a walk outside the outpost, near some rainbow-colored, stratified rock formations they'd heard about. She'd slipped into the 'fresher to change, emerging a moment later in plain clothes and with a smile on her face, and he'd kissed her forehead, and then somehow, they managed to never leave the room.

Jir lay on his back, with Nadeh curled up at his side, and smiled.

The Backwards Bantha really _was_ pretty awesome.

* * *

This ficlet officially involved the WEIRDEST research I have ever done. Also, you can thank the wonderful **laloga** for the term "Backwards Bantha".

Also, a great big thank you to everyone who's been reading lately! **DoubleEO, laloga, BunBun Fett, AwRiter, Jadedsnowtiger, SerendipityAEY, Clayto, littlelionluvr, xander, Sarge, sachariah, Syccada Jynn, Queen Ceilidh, TheLightisMine, LongLiveTheClones, Olen jedi ikuisesti** and **reulte**! I really don't thank you all often enough anymore, so...thank you. I really do appreciate all your kind words very much, and it's a pleasure writing for you all.

~Queen


	24. Mentor 1

_Smile_

* * *

Mentor 1.

* * *

She seemed to be more grown up every time he saw her.

This time, he came across her unexpectedly. On his way to a quiet corner of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, Plo Koon was aiming for a favorite spot to rest and meditate. The last mission he'd been assigned to was a long one, and it had been several weeks since he'd last seen Coruscant and home. A little bit of rest and peace was well in order.

It wasn't that Ahsoka was being noisy – actually, she was surprisingly quiet as she went through the motions of her empty-handed _kata_. It was only that the location she'd selected, far in the back of the gardens, was a wide enough space for practice, and the greenery around it was thin enough that he could see through. He folded his arms across his chest and observed.

She was moving slowly, but steadily, her eyes closed. Each of her hands was outstretched, flat and bladelike; a strike from one of them would be sharp and painful. Of course, seeing as Ahsoka was barely as tall as his waist, it would be a few more years before she had the build and muscles to put behind it. Still, her form was good, and getting better. Her motions slowed, and he could feel the build-up of energy and power, before she exploded into a back-fisted strike, at what would be an opponent's head. She swept around, knees bent and soft, before leaning backward, her weight going onto one leg. She leapt forward with a kick, landing easily and punching downward with one fist, while the other came up to her hip.

Her bolo-ball, ever present, was floating around her. With each movement, it hovered, a constant distance away from her body, perhaps a handspan. As she spun around and lifted herself into a crouch, it rolled down her arm and waited, idly floating mid-air, before she struck out with a palm. The ball moved forward, dipping towards her for a second before pushing back out to its usual distance.

Behind his mask, Plo smiled a little. It did not look like much, but she was exerting a great deal of control, attempting to unite both her native Togruta abilities of echolocation with her Force sense. The younglings all trained with remotes regularly, learning to block stinging electrical charges with a lightsaber while blindfolded. By keeping the bolo-ball at a relatively constant distance from herself, while practicing _kata_ blind, she was forcing herself not only to constantly judge the ball's location and distance, but keep it floating. Rather than awareness alone, it built stamina and fine control.

The only problem with the entire scene was that she wasn't supposed to be here.

Sliding into the final, closing position, she lifted her fists, crossing them at the wrists and sighing. She opened her eyes, and the bolo-ball dropped into her hands with a light smack.

"Cutting class again, little 'Soka?" he asked, his rich voice filling the clearing.

She started, almost leaping into the air in surprise as she spun around to see him standing there watching her. Clutching the ball to her chest, she looked down and away, guiltily. "Hi Master Plo," she mumbled, more into the ball than to him.

He repressed a chuckle and joined her in the clearing. She didn't lift her head from where it was resting on top of the ball, but she did raise her eyes for a moment, perfectly aware she should be in trouble. "Why are you here, Ahsoka?"

She hugged the ball closer to her again. "Practicing."

"You should be doing that with your class and your teachers."

She shifted from foot to foot and said nothing. Plo tilted his head, looking at her. She'd grown a great deal, from the toddler he'd found on Shili, but she was still small, and when she curled herself around the ball like that, she seemed tiny again. He knelt on one knee, bringing himself closer to her eye level. She focused on the brown surface of her ball. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you practicing here, Ahsoka?"

She pursed her lips and twisted them to the side. "I know how to do what we were doing in class."

"So you decided to leave?"

Her nose wrinkled and she looked at him several long seconds. Then the stubbornness set in. Her pout became a scowl and her brows drew down into an adamant expression. "I have to get better so I can be a padawan."

Plo's brows rose as he considered her declaration. She was years away from being chosen as a padawan learner. A few of the older younglings, though, had recently left the crèche to begin their training with their new Masters. Ahsoka was a handful, but there was no reason for her to pressure herself so early on. If she focused herself a little better, she'd be one of the top students in her age group, instead of the one the teachers had to constantly chase after for disappearing, or chastise for daydreaming or inattentiveness. "I have no doubt you will be, someday."

The petulance faded a little as she looked up at him skeptically. He placed a hand on her head, between the two navy-tipped lumps that would someday grow into her montrals. A look of consternation crossed her face, and she looked up at him, hopefully. "Will you be my Master, Master Plo? I'll be a really good padawan, I promise."

"Of that I have no doubt at all, Ahsoka. But whether you become my padawan or not is not entirely up to me or to you."

She looked up at him, then further up where his arm was above her head. She squirmed and pushed lightly at his hand. He smiled a little. She seemed to be reaching a stage where it wasn't always cool to be treated like the age she was. "Why not?"

He removed his hand from her head and let his forearm drape over his bent knee. "The Council needs to approve such things. They may have a different Master in mind for you, someday. Someone more appropriate than I."

Her eyes rounded and her face puckered up again, this time with defiance. "But you're the _best_ Master! And you found me and brought me here!"

This time, he couldn't resist a laugh, and Ahsoka scowled at him with all the fearsomeness of a blind, day-old nexu kitten. "Thank you, little one. It may be that I'll be your Master. Or it may not. You have many years to learn before you are ready. You will need a Master who can strengthen the skills you already possess, help them to grow."

Ahsoka was a fiercely independent child; certainly not one to fear much of anything, at least not her teachers. Though it made her difficult now, that willfulness and fearlessness would make her a prime candidate for field work someday, if she could learn to balance those traits with wisdom and wariness. Kindness she already had. She would be a duelist, a fighter and a peace-_maker_ , a creator of peace, rather than a peace-_keeper_and maintainer of it.

She seemed to be mulling his words over, glancing between him and the ball she was still clutching in her arms. "Even if you're not my Master, Master Plo, will you still teach me sometimes?" She paused, then flushed. "I won't hide, either."

He smiled. "I will always be happy to do so, little 'Soka. But for now, I think we need to take a little walk."

"A walk?"

"Yes, back to your classroom."

Ahsoka stared up at him, then pouted. "You're no fun, Master Plo."

Chuckling, he stood, and began to usher her away from the gardens and back towards the crèche. A few steps later, he felt a small hand reach into his and squeeze once. When he looked down, he found small orange fingers inside his larger orange ones, a pair of bright blue eyes looking up at him, and a little girl smiling.

* * *

I've finally got it figured out. Anakin is Big Brother, Obi-Wan is Uncle, and Plo is Dad.

This chapter is for ThoseWereTheDays, who requested some Ahsoka/Plo Koon friendship (though it was quite awhile ago now! Sorry for the delay!) Also, a big thank you to everyone who reviewed last time:** laloga, OKami-hu, Jadedsnowtiger, reulte, sachariah, KatiaSwift, TheLightisMine, Sarge1995, AwRiter, A Rose by any Other Name,** and **Queen Ceilidh**! Thank you all so much for taking the time to comment!

I'm still taking ficlet suggestions, if anyone has any!

~Queen


	25. Mentor 2

_Smile_

* * *

Mentor 2.

* * *

It was the groan of despair that caught her attention.

Jocasta was accustomed to hearing the noises of frustration, especially from some of the younger padawans and older initiates. Under the instruction of their Masters or their teachers, they would be sent to the great Jedi archives to do research, seeking out information on topics as varied as geography and geology, history and politics, or perhaps the obscure cultural and social mores of infrequently contacted species in the Outer Rim.

Wisdom could not be formed without knowledge, and knowledge could not be formed without information. For information, they came to the archive, to the library, and to her. The archivist smiled, locked her computer terminal, and stood from her desk, smoothing out the yellow robes she wore before folding her hands before her and stepping forward.

The girl was small, her feet dangling just an inch above the floor. Slumped over, her head was buried in her arms, which rested on the edge of the study carrel she occupied. Jocasta tilted her head to the side as she approached, trying to determine which one of the younglings this was; with her face buried in her arms, all she could see was a blur of black clothing, accompanied by a grey scarf over her head, a few tendrils of blue-black hair straying from where they'd been tied. She seemed to glow a harsh aquamarine, reflecting the light of the computer terminal on the carrel before her.

"Trouble?" Jocasta asked, pulling out the seat in the next carrel before sitting down, watching as a small, green skinned and blue eyed face lifted slightly to see her. The girl's eyes widened, and she snuffled a bit, trying to brush away the first, somewhat panicked signs of tears. Jocasta smiled kindly, peering around to see what was causing the girl so much grief.

On the screen was a general search engine on the open holonet. She was twenty-five pages into a search on heart attacks in reptilian sentient species, most of the results on her current list involving Rodians. Jocasta smiled a little at the attempt. She judged the Mirialan girl to be nine, perhaps ten, standard years old. Without any of the traditional Mirialan tattoos, it was slightly harder to judge her experience level. It wasn't a bad attempt; just an uninformed one. The number of active links in her search suggested she'd actually checked most of the twenty-five pages worth of information, and for a child that young, it was a fair amount of dedication. Judging by her despair, however, she had not found what she needed.

"What is your name, Initiate?"

The girl ducked her head, shyly. "Barriss Offee, Master Nu."

"And why are you researching heart attacks in Rodians?"

Barriss made a face, somewhere between a pout and a grimace. "People die from heart attacks." She looked at the screen again, and the grimace melted into something forlorn. "And cancers, and auto…autoimmune sicknesses, and other bad things." She reached to the side and picked up a holobook, holding it out for Jocasta to see. It was open to a random screen providing general information on the nervous system. The text appeared to be a standard health sciences monograph used to teach younglings basic species-specific physiology and biology.

Jocasta's eyebrows raised, looking between the textbook and the girl. She was a little young to look so disturbed by common ailments, most of which were preventable or curable with modern medical science. "Why are you researching this, Initiate Offee? Is it for an assignment for your academy class?"

The girl nodded. "We have to pick a disease, and do a report to show the class, but there's so _many_ things, and so _much_ of it. And people can _die_." Her indigo eyes were very wide, and possibly a little frightened at the prospect of illness. Jocasta smiled gently. The girl had a soft heart, it seemed; for an old woman like herself, who'd lived through her fair share of injuries and sicknesses, these ailments did not seem particularly intimidating anymore. To a little girl, first learning of all the possible methods of natural pain in the galaxy, it must seem terribly intimidating.

She chuckled. "I am not a Healer, Initiate Offee. I am not one of those able to undo the pain of people who are hurt." Barriss blinked at that, and something seemed to flicker on behind her eyes at the words, her brows drawing slightly together, thoughtfully. Jocasta continued, proudly, "But I am a librarian, and if it is information that you need, I am quite able to help you find it. And I can tell you, that for all its usefulness, the open holonet can be a vast ocean of nonsense, with only a few islands of good information scattered throughout. You are a Jedi, in the Jedi archive. We have much more reliable resources for your use."

The thoughtful look disappeared from Barriss' face, and she brightened a little. Jocasta smiled down at her. She was still pensive, her hands gripping the arms of her chair tightly, but she was venturing a hopeful look. "Thank you, Master Nu."

The librarian nodded once, briskly. "Well, we have an excellent selection of holobooks specializing in the health sciences for our Healers, but since we are here, we will begin with what can be found in our databases, rather than floating randomly on the holonet. The Republic sponsors an excellent database for basic medical information. It will be somewhat more complex than your textbook, but it is open to the public and geared towards laymen, rather than medical professionals. Please return your screen to its original page, Initiate."

Barriss scrambled to straighten herself in her chair, having twisted herself to the side to carry on the conversation with Jocasta. Her fingers twitched upward, hovering above the keyboard, as she sent another hopeful look towards Jocasta, who nodded again once young Offee was prepared. The main portal of the library's main page glowed coolly up at them. "Now, follow the path towards the available databases," Jocasta instructed, pointing out a link reading: _Find__ Articles_. She was brought to a screen listing various subject areas. Jocasta paused, glancing down at the girl, whose face was puckered up in thought. After a moment of scanning the page, she ventured further by entering the _Health__ Sciences_ section, a list of various databases forming.

Jocasta held up a hand, warningly. "There are several listed here. Many of these are too great in scope for an academy report, so we'll leave the Cumulative Index of Nursing and Allied Health alone, along with the Proquest database. For you, I recommend PubMed Health. Government sponsored websites and research is almost always valid. Enter PubMed, please."

With a determined set on her lips, Barriss moved into the database, a search screen appearing, along with links to various topics and subjects. A friendly looking middle aged woman was displayed on the right side of the page, with a serious looking doctor beside her, clearly advising her in her quest for medical information. Barriss looked up at her for a moment, pausing, waiting for any further instructions. Jocasta looked at her warmly in return. "Go ahead. Try searching for a heart attack now."

Still looking determined, the girl returned her attention to the screen, quickly typing _heart__ attack_ into the provided box and initiating the search. An expression of consternation appeared on her face when a fresh list of four hundred and thirty two possible articles came up. Jocasta leaned forward and pointed. "Don't get too intimidated. Look at all of it for a moment. What do you see?"

Barriss' eyes scanned the page, and she slowly began to read the titles of the various entries. "Heart Attack. The Signs of a Heart Attack. An…angina Pectoris and Heart Attacks. Depression After Heart Attack. Heart Attack First Aid. Heart Disease and Women. Coronary Heart Disease…." Her voice trailed off, and she seemed thoughtful for a moment, then began to read down a bit further. "Jaw Pain and Heart Attacks. Treating High Cholesterol. Choosing Pain Medicine for Ost..osteo…Arthritis. Comparing Beta Blockers." She leaned back in her chair. "Some of these don't make sense, but the first ones do."

"There are ways of narrowing down your search, of course, but for now, why don't you just try the first entry?"

Another nod, and Barriss opened the first entry. "Myo…cardial…infar…ction," she read haltingly. "_A__ heart__ attack__ is__ when__ blood__ vessels__ that__ supply__ blood__ to__ the __heart__ are__ blocked,__ preventing__ enough__ oxygen __from__ getting__ to __the__ heart.__The__ heart__ muscle__ dies__ or__ becomes__ permanently__ damaged.__Your__ doctor __calls__ this__ a__ myocardial__ infarction_."

Her eyes rounded, and her mouth fell open with a small gasp. Jocasta grinned, and it broadened when the girl continued, her voice rising in increased delight, "Causes, incidence, risk factors. Symptoms. Signs and tests, Treatment, Prevention! Master Nu this has so much information!" Barriss swiveled in her chair to face the librarian, her face alight.

"I am glad you found what you are looking for, Initiate Offee."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, and, in her enthusiasm, jerked forward, arms beginning to open outward as though to give her a hug. Jocasta blinked at her in surprise, and in that moment, the girl seemed to contain her relief and her joy, abruptly halting her movement forward. Slightly embarrassed, her hands hovering in the air halfway between them, she folded them back towards herself, folding them neatly. Blushing a darker shade of green from her outburst, Barriss tried again, more politely this time. "Thank you, Master Nu. I deeply appreciate your assistance with my homework." She bowed a little, from the neck, looking up shyly.

Jocasta was not one of the youngling minders. She was a Jedi Master, and a librarian, and a fairly old one at that. She knew the Initiates were taught to respect their seniors and their elders, and she appreciated the Mirialan girl's deference to her.

But she also was glad to see a serious little girl being a happy little girl. She leaned forward and laid an arm around the girl's shoulders and gave her a small hug. "I am happy to help you, Initiate Offee. If you need anything else, please let me know."

With one, final, quick squeeze, she leaned back and stood, sharing a smile with the girl before she turned back to her research and Jocasta to her work.

* * *

Some years later, when Jocasta heard Barriss Offee was entering the training program for Jedi Healers, she smiled.

It was far from the last time the girl came to her for help.

* * *

This is for all my fellow librarians out there! I have apparently been helping Nursing students waaaaay too much lately.

The search done in this story is real, as are the databases referred to. The Cumulative Index of Nursing and Allied Health Literature (CINAHL) is a major database for nursing, as is Proquest Nursing & Allied Health. PubMed Health is also a real database, and the information and entries Jocasta and Barriss found are from the actual pages in PubMed as of 2011.

Additionally, I wanted to thank everyone who left suggestions last time! I'll do my best to write them, and there were some great ideas. Thank you all for sharing with me!

~Queen


	26. First

Author's Note: This story takes place in the same fic-universe as my _Said__ the __Joker_ series. You don't have to read that to understand this. Just know that Rex and Ahsoka are alive post-Order 66, and they have a teenage boy named Rithron currently with them. That said, enjoy!

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

First.

* * *

Rex knew he shouldn't get involved.

The dispute, whatever it was over, was none of his business, and likely more trouble than it was worth; they were leaving Corellia before the day was out, as soon as the last of the repairs were finished and the new cargo secured. The _Drake_'s hold was full near to bursting from the new shipment. Business at the loading docks was slowing, now that the evening was beginning to draw on into night, and the pilots and their crews were heading into the city for entertainment. Electric lamps were beginning to flicker on in the occupied hangar bays, but the noise was coming from one of the unlit ones, the pair involved cast in shadows and not quite distinguishable in the pale moonlight.

He hesitated at the entrance to the dock, keeping close to the entranceway. If either of the two arguing figures turned their heads, they'd see his dark silhouette easily enough, but whatever it was that had the smaller one so upset was clearly occupying their attention enough that they paid him no heed.

It was the younger one raising his voice that gave Rex pause. For a moment, he'd thought it was Rithron, finding himself some more trouble to get into, even here where they were marginally safe. It was a boy's voice, not quite a man's, smooth toned even in agitation, though cracking inopportunely even while Rex paused to listen. A teenage boy, then. The second voice was lower, steadier, but harsher and more arrogant – a man, and a confident one. Their heights corresponded – the boy's shorter silhouette suggested a lanky human male, the man's…Rex frowned, peered closer. A Weequay, he determined with a grimace. He didn't like making assumptions, but an annoyed, cocky Weequay arguing in the shadows of an empty hangar bay at night boded well for trouble. There'd been more than a few pirate attacks along the Corellian Run during the past year, and they were still ongoing, the Imperial draft tapping into the pool of men and women who would instead be serving in the Corellian Security Forces. The trade routes weren't as protected as they should be, and it was inviting in all kinds of trouble – some of it was apparently reaching the surface of the planet.

He _really_ shouldn't get involved.

The boy's voice increased in volume and exasperation. "I told you, I've got the money!"

Rex could practically hear the smirk in the Weequay's voice. "Give it to me, and maybe I won't tell the Boss where you and Shrike are hiding out."

The boy's voice grew more agitated, cracking again mid-sentence. "I don't have it _with_ me!"

A low laugh. "Not so good for you, then, is it brat?"

There was a shifting in the shadows; Rex squinted against the dark, tracing the Weequay's outline. He'd been leaning back before, clearly relaxed and sure of himself; he was still clearly sure of himself, but the relaxed posture was now gone. He was leaning forward, shoulders rounding and his weight was shifting forward onto the balls of his feet – obvious preparation for an attack.

Rex tensed; the boy did as well, and he took a step backward, his hands coming halfway up in fists as he began to crouch. The Weequay merely laughed, and Rex wondered if the boy was armed. Even if the kid was good in a fistfight, a pirate would be armed and ready to fight dirty. With firepower as well as superior weight, height and reach, he had every advantage.

Rex moved, stomping his feet loudly as he lurched forward into the hangar bay, making a deliberate display of swinging the bag of takeout in his right hand, while reaching up to scratch the back of his head with his left. He put on his most bewildered expression, and looked around with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. When he brought his gaze back down to the pair, they were staring at him, though still bristling and ready to launch themselves into a fight.

"Umm," Rex dragged out, trying to look embarrassed and feeling foolish over his bad acting. "Sorry, first time around here. Where's the block of K docks? I got turned around back in the E's."

Taking another couple steps forward, he could see each of the two faces more clearly in the moonlight, though their features were cast sharply into shadow. The boy looked bewildered by his sudden appearance, and the Weequay just looked pissed. Rex set his bag of nerfburger cartons down and tried to assume a non-threatening posture that still allowed him quick access to his hand blasters. He favored his right leg and stepped forward once, limping as though from an old injury.

Slowly, as though just figuring out there was a problem, he said, "Everything alright here?"

Best to diffuse things. The last thing anyone needed was a shootout; the Weequay was definitely armed, he could see that now with better proximity. The kid had a blaster strapped to his thigh as well, but with his hands up in readiness for a fistfight, the Weequay would be the faster draw. Rex dropped his hands closer to his waist, wringing them once as though the thought of a fight distressed him. He shifted his weight, steadying himself.

"Who are you?" the Weequay hissed at him, angling his body so that he could add Rex to his line of sight. "You with him?" He jerked his head towards the kid.

"Never seen him before," Rex said, honestly, but perhaps too calmly. The Weequay scowled, his face contorting into a mass of black shadows.

"Liar!" he snapped.

They both moved. Two hands flashed towards two blasters, and two shots rang out. One struck true, the other flew wide.

Rex swore once, quietly, as the Weequay hit the ground, a hole in the middle of his chest. Pissing off pirates did nothing but bring trouble. Ahsoka was going to be annoyed. He glanced at the kid. She'd probably also be proud of him. He sighed and straightened.

"Better get out of here, kid. His pals find out who's responsible, it'll get ugly."

The kid was gaping at him, his fists still up. "What'd you do that for?"

Rex snorted and reholstered his blaster. "You're welcome." He leaned down and picked up the bag of takeout. The kid was still staring at him, but he'd closed his mouth and was merely wide-eyed, looking between Rex and the Weequay's body.

"Who are you?" the kid asked.

Rex shrugged and grimaced. "A meddler, apparently." He paused, then added, thinking of Rithron, "I've got a kid about your age." It was more or less the truth, even if Rithron wasn't technically _his_.

That seemed to mollify the boy's curiosity, at least a little. He was making a face that was difficult to read, all hard eyed and serious. It was hard to tell, in the darkness, but Rex suspected there was a little sadness there too. He glanced from Rex to the body, then back again. The gangly teenager seemed to melt away for a moment, and for that moment, Rex caught a glimpse of the man this boy would become in a few more years. The kid jerked his chin at Rex, then tilted his head towards the Weequay. "How'd you do that so fast?"

Rex couldn't help but give a small smirk, though it only lasted a second. "I know when to shoot first."

The man melted back into a boy, and the boy's eyes widened, and he guffawed at what Rex was saying. His teeth flashed white in the darkness amid a grin. "Thanks."

"Get out of here," Rex repeated. "You don't want to deal with a bunch of angry pirates and neither do I." He turned and began walking towards the entranceway, looking back after a couple steps. The boy was hovering, standing over the body of the Weequay, then turning quickly and breaking into a trot. Rex lengthened his strides and made it out into the street first, glancing back and forth. A man crossed the intersection down the road, intent on his own business; no one else seemed to be nearby. Rex sighed. Corellia wasn't some backwater Outer Rim world; the authorities wouldn't be pleased about the body, even if it was a pirate, though they'd chalk it up to some intergang fighting. This wasn't the most reputable of areas, either. They'd need to get moving as soon as he got back, assuming the repairs were done.

"Hey, mister," the boy said, and Rex turned enough to see him standing several strides away. His hand was hovering over his blaster, though everything else about him was non-threatening. The grin was back on his face, and this time, he was the one sounding cocky when he continued, "Good lesson. I'll remember to be first next time."

With a final flash of a smile, he turned on a heel and began moving rapidly away, shoulders back and a bit of a swagger in his step.

Rex shook his head; whoever the kid was, he was obviously used to trouble. With a sigh, Rex turned in the opposite direction, heading back towards the _Drake,_ Ahsoka and home.

* * *

Several years later, Han still remembered the lesson.

* * *

This one is for sachariah, who requested a scene between Rex and Han. Hope you like it!

Also I just wanted to take a moment to say, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Yule, and a general Happy Holidays to everyone out there!

~Queen


	27. Crossover 1: A Beginning

_Smile_

* * *

Crossover 1. A Beginning

* * *

Since Master Skywalker wouldn't say it, Ahsoka did: "Thank you."

She received a brilliant smile in return, beaming down at her with such brightness she couldn't help but return some measure of it herself.

She had no idea what to make of him. He wasn't human – he _looked_ human, _sounded_ human, at least in terms of his actual voice - but there the similarities ended. He wasn't human. He couldn't _be_ human. She wasn't sure he was even mortal. The Force rushed around him in a dizzying display, flowing like rapids or tornadoes or swift-approaching storms, all charged and menacing and powerful.

And yet, he was incredibly _still_.

The only person who she could even think of as a comparison was Master Yoda. No, he was not human.

They'd come to this planet on a mission, to investigate a series of attacks by what was believed to be a new Separatist weapon.

It was not a Separatist weapon. Ahsoka still wasn't sure exactly _what_ those things had been, bubbling up out of pits, all black and oily and full of mouths and teeth and shrieking to the heavens and devouring everything in their paths. They just absorbed blaster fire. Lightsabers cut through the splattering tentacles, but did not seem to harm the things – they just flowed back together, like cutting through crude oil.

Then _he_ showed up, appearing completely out of nowhere, waving around some sort of buzzing screwdriver (_screwdriver?_) and bellowing about stupid natives digging too deep (_it's a mining planet!_), creatures from the dawn of time (_what?_), and Shadow Proclamations (_no such thing in Republic history…_). Then he started giving out orders, beginning with: "_Run for your life!_"

Master Skywalker did not like taking orders from an apparent lunatic. It made him cranky. Of course, the lunatic seemed to be the only one with any idea of what was going on, so follow his orders they did.

And they ran.

Somewhere amid all the running, they'd stopped for a few seconds, and she'd managed to ask for his name.

"_I'm the Doctor!"_ he proclaimed, beaming an almost manic smile.

"_Doctor who?"_ she'd asked.

If possible, the grin widened. "_Nothing. Just "the Doctor". Nice to meet you, miss….?"_

"_Ahsoka Tano_."

He'd given her a rather peculiar look. It was almost chilling, but it was gone in an instant, and he was smiling again, and then they were back to running for their lives.

Nothing that happened that day made much sense. She still wasn't entirely sure how they'd stopped the oil monster things, but they were now slipping and sliding back down into the holes that had been drilled down into the planet's core, leaving trails of slick black residue all over the drills and various other machinery used for mining. The rocky field they stood in was filled with the remnants of the sludge and now-useless machinery.

It was not lost on Ahsoka that after the Doctor arrived, they'd lost no more men. The entire situation was bizarre. She glanced at him again, sidelong. He was average height, at least by human standards, with unruly brown hair sticking up all over his head in licks and tufts. He looked like he forgot to shave that morning, and had large, dark brown eyes that did not quite border black. Despite their darkness, they still seemed to gleam a little, even in the grey afternoon. He had his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his blue suit. A long brown trenchcoat draped over him, and he was rocking back and forth on his feet, almost absently.

Those dark eyes, though, were purposefully flicking from figure to figure in their team. When they settled on Master Skywalker, his expression sobered a bit.

"Exactly how long has the war been going on now?" he asked.

Ahsoka gave him an odd look. Was there anyone who didn't know when the Clone War broke out? "About three years," she replied, still watching him carefully, trying to understand. Not human, and certainly not normal.

The Doctor nodded once and ran a hand over his face. "Three years, eh? That long already…."

He seemed to be mulling something over, and Ahsoka prepared herself to ask him some questions – where was he from? How did he get here? How did he know what those things were, and that they would be driven back simply by shutting down the automated mining systems? Master Skywalker was a famous hero of the war, and very recognizable, but why did he keep _staring_ at him like that? And why did he keep making funny faces at her and Rex?

Rex was walking up to them. The remainder of their squad, along with Master Skywalker, were standing in an oil-free area, uphill from the drills. Judging by Rex's set shoulders, clenched fists and staccato stride, he was not pleased about the mission. There was plenty to be displeased about. Nothing went according to plan, and it wouldn't exactly be easy to explain "giant man-eating oil monsters" to the Jedi Council, much less the Doctor himself.

It was going to be a long debriefing.

Rex slipped his helmet off and opened his mouth, but whatever it was he was about to say was cut off by the Doctor's random request of: "Why don't you come with me?"

He was grinning again. Rex was simply staring, taken aback, and Ahsoka felt…well, _flabbergasted _at the utter randomness of it. "Uh, what?"

The Doctor rubbed his hands together for a moment before shoving them back into his coat pockets. "I mean both of you, of course. Don't think I've ever traveled with a Togruta before, much less a Jedi. Or a clone, for that matter! Always good, getting some variety, meeting new people, you'd definitely be a different set than I'm used to, so why not?"

Ahsoka exchanged a befuddled look with Rex. The Doctor might have saved all their lives, but he couldn't possibly be sane. Still, the smile on his face seemed both genuine and gentle when it settled on her and Rex. "Um, thank you, Doctor, but I don't think that's possible." She tilted her head to the side, her lekku swinging a little at the motion.

"Ah, of course not," he chuckled, then looked at Rex, his face growing serious. "Problem is, you two aren't supposed to be here. Not here as in _here_," he made a broad gesture towards their surroundings, "but here as in _now_. I'm surprised, there's not much time left. Three, maybe four months?" His attention slid over towards Master Skywalker momentarily before returning to the two of them. "Never did like anomalies like that, people just randomly appearing and disappearing in the timeline for no apparent reason. Sure you won't change your minds?"

Ahsoka exchanged another look with Rex. Maybe they should try to convince him to come along? Have one of the Jedi healers check him out. Maybe have Master Yoda talk to him, because of the way the Force spun so dizzily, so _potently_, around him. Could the Force feel like that, around a madman? Or was he just so deeply steeped in the Force she couldn't understand him?

Master Yoda could be cryptic too….

Rex was staring at her, clearly waiting for her to take the lead. The situation was a little too weird for him, she guessed. She gave Rex a brief smile, then said, "Thanks for the offer, but we've both got a duty here. Are you…going to be alright? Do you live around here? We have a ship on the way to pick us up."

"Nah, I've got my own transportation." He smiled again, and made a small twitch towards one of the many sets of boulders nearby. Ahsoka frowned. It would have to be a very small ship, to be able to hide behind some rocks. "Thanks for the offer though, can't say I've been in a Republic cruiser in, oh, ages and ages. Nice ships, always found them a bit cold though, all angles and big guns."

"Sir," Rex said, giving the Doctor a final odd glance before turning to her. "The General wants us to regroup. Larty should be arriving to pick us up any moment."

Ahsoka nodded. "I'll be right there."

Rex nodded once and slid his helmet back onto his head, turning to leave, but the Doctor called out, "Captain!" and he paused, turning to the side and glancing back. The Doctor's smile was gone, and his face was again quite serious. "You were quite impressive today. Lots of quick thinking. Always good, you know, to think quickly and know when to think for yourself. Good job. Keep it up."

It was eerie, his lighthearted words and serious expression. Ahsoka repressed a shiver. Not human. Possibly not mortal.

Rex's reply was gruff, but polite. "Thank you." Then he turned and left.

"Good man, that Rex," the Doctor told her. "He's probably your best chance. Stick with him."

Ahsoka lifted a brow. Best chance of what? She folded her arms. "I need to be getting back. Are you sure you won't join us?"

The Doctor brightened. "Positive! I appreciate the invitation, though, Miss Tano. Well, back to it, I suppose." He gave her a final smile, which she returned with a wave, before he turned and headed for one of the larger, taller clusters of boulders lining the quarry. He didn't seem to be in any kind of hurry, but he moved with enough purpose that it was clear he was moving towards something – not just meandering around. He must have a one-man transport. Though if that was the case, where was the ship he worked with? Small ships belonged with larger ships….

Nothing about the man made sense. He reached one of the piles of boulders and disappeared behind it.

Then the noise began.

For a second, she thought it was the distant sound of the LAATi, arriving to pick them up, but this was not like any sound she'd ever heard before. It began like someone running a music pick too harshly up and down the strings of a quetarra. It rushed and wheezed, but most of all it _vibrated_. Ahsoka clapped her hands over her montrals as the cadence grew. The more the noise built, the stranger it became, moving out of the harsh, unnatural scraping and wheezing into higher octaves that resounded in her montrals, reverberating and pitching higher until it sounded like the Force itself was singing, humming in clear sweet notes that lasted only for a moment.

For just that moment, it was as though she could hear the music of the spheres, whirling and rushing and spinning at thousands of kilometers a second.

And then it was gone.

* * *

"What is going _on?_" she demanded. She knew Rex wasn't going to be able to give her a full explanation, not right now, but something, _anything_, telling her why her entire squad was suddenly mutinying against her would be nice.

These were _her men_. Men from the 501st. Friends, helping with her mission, and now they were trying to _kill_ her.

Except for Rex. She was trying to cover him and herself. Both of her lightsabers were out, her regular green blade accompanied by the shorter yellow _shoto_, and both were whirling around her in a frenzy. Rex, behind her, was firing rapidly from both of his blaster pistols at men that should have been friends and allies. They were still several meters from the nearest cover – the treeline of a forest. If she and Rex could make it in there, there was a chance they could give the rest of the squad the slip, and try to figure out what to do, who to contact, who to call for help.

Something was horribly, horribly _wrong_, and right now, Rex was the only one of her men acting sane. He'd shouted a warning at her just a few seconds before the shooting began. To her horror, the men began to fire at Rex, too, when she didn't instantly go down under a hail of blaster fire, and he didn't join them. She got herself between Rex and the rest, and they were slowly backing their way towards the forest. It would, if nothing else, buy them some time.

Then the music began.

High and sweet, she actually felt it vibrating in the tips of her montrals before it began to drop down into a more normal hearing range, deepening and expanding, humming and filling her with the kind of comforting reassurance only touching the Force itself could.

Then it turned into an almost obnoxious wheezing and scraping. Ahsoka flinched as the beauty was replaced with harshness.

Still batting away blaster bolts sent by her own men, she didn't have time to turn around and see what it was that was materializing behind her. And it was _materializing_. She didn't _need_ to turn around to see it. She didn't even really need the Force to _sense_ it, because in a way, she couldn't. Whatever it was, it was unbelievably _muted_. But it was the source of the music and the scraping, and with her native Togruta echolocation, she heard its mass fade into existence, something solid forming in a space that, a moment ago, was entirely empty.

Then, if possible, things got even weirder.

The blaster bolts started hitting an invisible wall in front of them. For a moment, she and Rex froze, still in position, open mouthed and staring as the blue blasts from their squad continued pouring towards them…then seemed to bounce harmlessly off the invisible shield.

The sound of a door banging open made both of them spin around, and Ahsoka found herself looking at what appeared to be a big…blue…box? With the Doctor hanging out of a door in the front. He peered around for a minute before focusing on the astonished pair standing before him. He winced a little, almost sheepishly. "Looks like I overshot by a couple minutes. Sorry about that. Meant to get here before all the shooting started."

At the word "shooting", Rex and Ahsoka both turned furtively back towards the rest of the soldiers. Two were still firing steadily at them, their blasts still bouncing harmlessly off of whatever deflector field was protecting them. The rest of the squad seemed to be running for either bigger weapons or trying to decide what to do in this rather unprecedented situation.

"I've expanded the TARDIS's shields a bit, nothing they've got is going to get through. Still, we probably shouldn't be hanging around."

Ahsoka gaped at him, then at Rex, then at the men running around outside the shield's perimeter. Suddenly, she felt unbelievably frustrated, confused and overwhelmed. Trusted people were shooting at her, there were invisible shields popping up out of nowhere, blue _boxes_ (what was a _Police Public Call Box?_) materializing out of thin air, an impossible – _impossible!_ – man that felt as ancient as Master Yoda, and the Force was absolutely _throbbing_ around all of them. It was getting painful. Something terrible was happening, and there was an awful, awful _ripping_ starting up somewhere in the galaxy, strong enough that she could feel it from what must be so far away. She clutched her lightsabers tightly, brought them up into a defensive stance, and cried, "Would someone _please_ explain to me _what is going on!_"

Ahsoka barely registered Rex and the Doctor exchanging a look. Rex lifted his pistols, warily, defensively, edging closer to her, but the Doctor seemed unconcerned by Rex's caution. He stepped out of the blue box. "That's going to be complicated, and I think the best person to explain a large part of it is the good Captain here. But right now, we need to get inside."

This time, it was Ahsoka and Rex that exchanged glances. Rex said, flatly, "Inside the box?"

"You'll be surprised," the Doctor replied, a bit of a grin beginning to appear, but it did not fully form. He was looking at what was beyond them, at the running clone troopers that were beginning to bring out heavier artillery. He gestured with his head, jerking it in the general direction of the blue box and the open door. "Come on." A little bit of faint light seemed to be coming out of it; from her current angle, Ahsoka couldn't quite see the source.

Into the blue box and trust the strange man, or try to fight back against her own, heavily armed squad, where she and Rex were outnumbered. Even if they could make it to the forest, it may not be enough. She looked at Rex. He was worried too, she knew. Still, he was at her back. It was reassuring.

"I don't see much choice," she murmured up to him. Rex's helmet tilted down, and she knew he was looking at her. He nodded once, slowly.

Ahsoka straightened, flicked off her lightsabers, but kept them in hand. The Doctor was a friend, or at least she thought he was – was it really just a few months ago they'd met? Grimly, she marched forward. The Doctor stepped aside to let her pass. He was smiling again, but this time, it was sad.

The box wasn't that big. This was going to be one squishy ride, whatever this thing was capable of. Bracing herself, she stepped through the doorway, Rex behind her, guarding her back.

And, because he was right behind her, she felt him walk into her when she abruptly stopped.

Ahsoka blinked. Then she blinked again, twice, rapidly. Then she pushed Rex backward, backing up to look at the outside of the blue box again. Then she rushed forward a couple steps and looked inside again.

Warm, neutral light filled the space, with organic, almost treelike supports stretching upward from the floor to the ceiling. The series of pillars curved elegantly around what had to be some kind of central control module in the center of the wide, large room, glowing coolly in the amber lighting.

"It's _alive!_"

There was no technology she knew of capable of making something bigger on the inside, but more importantly, there was no technology capable of masking the Force so well. Outside, it was muted, but inside…inside, she could hear the music again. Inside, it was not just a beautiful hum, but an almost tear-inducing chorus. It was everywhere, like angels singing, a dazzling orchestra of the spheres. She could only stand and listen in open-mouthed, childlike wonder.

"Never did bring a Jedi into the TARDIS before," the Doctor mused, looking past Rex to look at her. "Come on, no point blocking up the doorway, let's get a move on."

The frank, almost ridiculously practical words brought her back to reality for a moment, and Ahsoka holstered her lightsabers, then wrapped a hand around Rex's arm, pulling gently. He was standing in the doorway, solidly, defensively. She understood his confusion, his reluctance to leave.

And she expected answers. Soon. But nothing this beautiful – nothing this full of _Light_ – could be of the Dark Side. So she pulled Rex in with her, and the Doctor closed the door behind them with a click, and then was running swiftly up towards the control module that was also a nexus of the Force, and was shifting levers and spinning dials, and the wheezing and scraping began again, and the floor tilted, and she knew they were moving.

One of Rex's hands was on her arm, gripping her tightly. It was the only outward sign he gave of his anxiety. The rest of him was as he always was; stable and familiar, solid and stoic in the face of any difficulty.

She gripped him tightly in turn, as they moved into places unknown, and the Force sang a symphony around them.

From the control center, the Doctor was looking at them with a smile.

Nothing was as it should be, but she returned the smile anyway.

For now, at least, they were safe. And she knew, somehow, that the Doctor was the _Doctor_ because he was there to _fix things_.

Somehow, it was going to be alright.

* * *

I've always loved crossovers, and thought it might be fun to poke at a couple little ideas here. I have no idea what happens after this, but thought it might be interesting to write out. It would have to be massively AU. I've never written any _Doctor Who_ before, so hopefully I got Ten down okay. I love Ten. *huggles Ten*

There are going to be a couple of these "mini-crossovers" coming up next. Hope you all like them.

* * *

And actually, I have this random scene floating around in my head too:

Yoda: Hmph! When nine-hundred years old you are, look as good you will not!

Doctor: But I _am_ nine hundred years old!

Yoda: Bah! Nine hundred years old _you_ may be, but your body, nine-hundred years old is not! Live nine-hundred years in one body you will, then come back and tell me you look as good, hm? Bah! Time Lords! Bah! Cheating, regeneration is!

Doctor: You know, something tells me there's no point arguing with Master Yoda….

* * *

That's all for now. Til next time,

~Queen


	28. Crossover 2: An Ending

_Smile_

* * *

Crossover 2. An Ending

* * *

It was, like so many things about these people, unassuming.

At least, it was unassuming at first glance. The room was simple, plain and white with an impressive computer console to one side, behind a bit of plated glass. A simple look around the room would confuse someone who did not know the room's purpose. The greater portion of the room was occupied only by a flat platform, slightly raised. A series of yellow circles were lit around the platform's edge, with a larger circle in the center.

It almost looked like an empty storage room. Almost. The computer console was the only hint it was something else.

The first time he was sucked up in it - well, _disassembled_ in it - he hadn't been expecting it. _Emergency extraction_ in the Republic usually meant having a team come in on a LAATi for a rescue. To these people, it meant tearing him apart at the atomic level in one place, then reassembling him in another place.

They called it a _transporter_.

Obi-Wan liked it about as much as he liked flying through asteroid fields with a twelve year old Anakin in the pilot's seat. Anakin, of course, loved it. Ahsoka seemed to think it was the most useful thing ever, as did Cody. Obi-Wan had to agree on that point at least. Over the last two months, the transporter had transported a great many people out of harm's way, himself included.

Like so many things about these people, this ship, it didn't appear to be much at first glance. Once in action, though...everything changed.

Every Jedi down to the youngest initiate felt it happen; the massive disturbance in the Force that signaled their arrival. It echoed with all the power of a sonic boom. A huge, gaping maw of a rift opened up deep in the Outer Rim, spitting their delicate white-grey ship out into a new galaxy, so far, far away from their own.

When contact was finally made, they called themselves the crew of the _Federation Starship Enterprise_. They'd done battle with a monolithic starship with advanced technology, and overcame it by exploding a mysterious substance they could only call _Red Matter_. The explosion ripped open a rift, and they'd been pulled through by the wormhole's gravimetric field.

They'd found the remains of the ship they called the _Narada_. It was half buried in the soil of a planet near to the rift's opening; estimates indicated that by the ship's decay, it had crashed there some seven thousand years earlier. Such were the ways of unstable wormholes; the _Narada_ entered the rift only a few minutes before the _Enterprise_.

During first contact, there was only confusion. There was no such thing as a _United Federation of Planets_, the _Enterprise's_ design matched no known construction models, the languages they were broadcasting in were all unrecognized and on non-standard frequencies, and if it weren't for the concerted efforts of several protocol droids, the talented Lt. Uhura, and the universal translation programs on their ship, the confusion likely would have lasted longer.

Eventually there came overtures of friendship. The _Enterprise_ was damaged from her battle, and her crew lost in a strange place. Assistance was offered; technological differences were noticed.

At first, Obi-Wan heard only of inferiority. Though there were powerful engines on the ship, and a fascinating crystal matrix powering it, they had no hyperspace capabilities. Likewise, their photon torpedoes and phaser banks were interesting, but they did not supersede the raw power of turbolasers. The differences in technology were interesting, but hardly worth noting.

Then some clone technicians assisting with repairs ate in their cafeteria.

Somehow, they were capable of taking a raw lump of base matter and transforming it into a tasty, fresh, completely healthy meal of exotic vegetables (something called _broccoli_ and _cauliflower_) and pasta. The _Enterprise_ crew seemed to think it was entirely practical and didn't get the food quite right.

They called it a _replicator_. To the technicians, used to freeze-dried, mass produced rations at best, it was a revelation. Moreover, the replicators didn't just make food. They made almost anything, from underwear to weapons. _That_ got a lot of people's attention.

Then there was the transporter. The military uses alone ranked in the dozens. Instantaneous planetary transportation. Instantaneous _inter_planetary transportation. Evacuations that didn't risk other people's lives. Transport of personnel and materiel. The _Enterprise_ crew were rather proud of it - apparently it was a newer invention. Their chief engineer was apparently an expert and had recently moved out of theorizing about how to do transportations while moving at faster-than-light speeds. It was now an applicable mathematical algorithm and physically possible.

When it came down to it, Obi-Wan realized it was because of all the peace.

He'd shared several long conversations with the stiff, logical man working as their second-in-command. It only made sense they didn't have the weapons. For all the reports and descriptions of fighting, border patrols and neutral zones, for all the terror this man named _Nero_ had recently unleashed on their galaxy, the Federation was, mostly, at peace. It was a shockingly different galaxy these people came from. Their technology was driven by curiosity, not necessity. Their armada was for peace-keeping and humanitarian aid, not war. Their technology revealed a peaceful nature, not a warlike one.

Still, the transporter and the replicator had potential military application. The result was the _Enterprise_ getting caught up in a political conflict in the Republic Senate. Some Senators tried to defend their right to own their own technology. Others screamed that they were at war and the ship should be stripped of any useful tech to aid the war effort, the displaced Federation crew willing or not.

The Separatists didn't bother to debate. They just attacked.

Of course, a team was sent to retrieve the stolen schematics, before the Separatists could learn anything from them.

Obi-Wan sighed as he looked over at his former padawan. If there was one thing he learned from the entire encounter, it was this: Never, _ever_ allow Anakin Skywalker to race James T. Kirk in a speeder. Obi-Wan sighed again. He'd always thought Anakin was the best in the universe at attracting trouble. It seemed he now had a rival. When Acting Captain Kirk wasn't _attracting_ trouble, he was _making_ it (Kirk ended up spending a large amount of time trying to avoid an angry Master Luminara. Obi-Wan didn't know the specifics, but apparently it had something to do with being mistaken as a species called "Orion"). How they all got the data files back in one piece, Obi-Wan still didn't know. There were certainly enough hungry rancors and explosions involved in the retrieval mission.

In the end, they decided to try returning home.

Obi-Wan didn't blame them. He feared for them, but he didn't blame them. The Separatists had already attacked them, and the Chancellor had just come out as supporting the "take the technology by any means" faction of the Senate. The more aggressive Senators were already suggesting that the crew be drafted into the construction of the technology. Obi-Wan loved the Republic, but the forcible enlistment of beings into a cause not even of their own galaxy was deeply troubling.

This was not a galaxy that was welcoming to them, and it was growing less welcoming by the day. Spock said they had a plan. The Red Matter wormhole had not yet finished collapsing on itself – theoretically, the tunnel was still open, but would not remain that way for long.

It was time to say goodbye.

Cody, Rex and the few remaining clone troopers on the _Enterprise_ had already beamed onto the _Resolute_. That left Anakin, Ahsoka, and himself.

Ahsoka was saying her goodbyes to two of the bridge crew. She was close in age with the young man named Chekov, and she and the ship's primary pilot, Sulu, had struck up a friendship over several rounds of sparring; he had a delightfully different style of swordfighting. Both men were fascinated by the lightsabers. Chekov wanted to know how the power output was regulated without exploding, and Sulu just wanted one to use.

Anakin was saying goodbye to the Acting Captain. This apparently entailed giving a detailed explanation of how he won the Boonta Eve pod race on Tatooine; Kirk was responding to this childhood story by retelling his own fond memory of being arrested after driving an antique speeder into a very large canyon. Obi-Wan sighed again, this time with a definite note of despair.

"It is fascinating," a voice said. Obi-Wan turned to see Commander Spock beside him, an eyebrow arched in the general direction of Anakin and Kirk.

Obi-Wan chuckled, running a hand over his beard with amusement. "More like a minor miracle."

Spock tilted his head towards Obi-Wan, and his brow seemed to quirk ever so slightly higher. Obi-Wan smiled and added, "Your ship is still in one piece with the both of them on it." A second brow rose to join the first, and Obi-Wan decided this was a sign of agreement. "I wish you well on your voyage home."

"Your sentiments are appreciated, General Kenobi."

Obi-Wan looked over the assembled crowd. The transporter room was a good size, but it was not huge. The room was filled with _Enterprise_ crew for their send-off. Obi-Wan's smile changed from one of exasperated amusement to one of pleasure. They would make it home. None of the Starfleet people were Force-sensitive, but even with their lack of Force-sensitivity, each positively _glowed_ with the Force. Even their ship seemed bright, almost alive, humming happily with the crew that lived within its' metal skin. The Force may not dwell within them, but it most certainly graced them with its power and presence.

This ship, with its crew, was not meant to linger here. It was not meant to be pulled apart by the desperation of a Senate at war with itself as much as with the Separatists. The Force was with them. They would make it home.

Ahsoka was the first to pull away from her new friends. The two men were smiling, the younger one waving as Ahsoka stepped up onto the transporter platform and centered herself in the middle of one of the rings on the floor, taking a deep breath as she got settled. Previous rides through the thing had not left time to think about the process of being pulled apart, molecule by molecule. Now she needed to steady herself for the process to come. She exhaled and smiled down at the gathering.

"Commander," Obi-Wan said with a brief nod at Spock, who returned the gesture as Lt. Uhura stepped up to join him. Obi-Wan caught Anakin's eye as he moved forward, inclining his head towards the transporter pad in an effort to move Anakin along. With a final grin at Kirk, Anakin too finished his conversation and stepped away. They climbed onto the transporter platform at the same time, each taking up a place in one of the circles.

They seemed so very different. Even the red-shirted security officers did not have the militaristic feel that even the non-clone members of the Republic army and navy possessed. Even if a part of their duties included battles and military fighting, their primary mission was to explore new worlds, to simply _see what was out there_. There was an innocence to it, an honesty that seemed to stand in stark contrast to the way things were now done in the Republic. They were seeking out new life, new civilizations. They seemed so _young_.

Were the people in this galaxy once this way? So honest, so eager to explore? Was the galaxy ever such a new place, as much full of wonder and beauty as it was full of danger and pain? Obi-Wan's face softened as he looked out over the small crowd, in their bright, primary colored shirts of yellow and red and blue. In the white room, each person stood out so boldly. Everything about them was bright and new and strong.

He said to them all, "May the Force be with you."

Several smiles formed on several faces. Spock, though he did not smile, lifted a hand, separating his fingers into a vee-shape. He said, simply, "Live long and prosper."

Two very different phrases, that ultimately had the same meaning: _Good luck,_ _my friend_.

An officer at the transporter's control panel moved, and Obi-Wan found himself surrounded by a soft wash of sound and light.

And then the _Enterprise_ was gone.

* * *

The _Star Trek_ side of this is taken from the _Star Trek_ 2009 movie. Except they get pulled into that giant Red Matter wormhole at the end of the movie and end up in the GFFA instead of escaping.

I've loved both _Star Wars _and _Star Trek_ since I was a kid. (So no bashing. Star Peace, people, we're all geeks here.) I've had vague crossover-y ideas about them both before, but nothing ever seems to solidify in my head. There are references in here to a lot of completely unformed plot ideas and scenes. I've always thought it would be a perfect ending, though - an exchange of two of the most recognizable phrases in science fiction: "_May the Force be with you_" and "_Live long and prosper_".

Also...I have to ask, since this has been bubbling incessantly through my brain the last couple weeks - would anyone be interested in a full length version of the _Doctor Who_ crossover from last time? I've been working on a new fic project for awhile, and am nearly done with it...and looking towards the next fic after that. Initially the DW/SW crossover was going to be a oneshot, but I've been getting a few other ideas and might have enough for a longer story. Thoughts, anyone?

~Queen


	29. Crossover 3: A Commonality

Author's Note: I'm borrowing my _Said the Joker_ story for a setting again, in this one. You don't have to read _StJ_ in order to understand this. Just know that Cody and Barriss are alive and helping the early Rebellion in the post-Order 66 galaxy.

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Crossover 3 . A Commonality

* * *

"What's it mean?"

"Slavery. To false gods."

Cody managed not to wince; he couldn't have known, and the man would know that. It was the entire reason for asking. He'd been from one side of the galaxy to the other, and never before had he seen any race that burned crests of liquid gold into their foreheads. The man's was oval in shape, a pair of concentric golden rings, with a sinuous design in the center that Cody supposed could represent a serpent of some kind. Below the crest was a highly arched brow and expression of what could only be described as complete _unamusement_. After a moment, the brow descended back down, and the man named Teal'c returned his attention to the ruins spread out before them.

The sky was dominated by the baleful brown-yellow-red streaks of the gas giant above, and a collection of vague ivory moons in the distance. The moon they were currently standing on was the only one with a breathable atmosphere, and the air was close with humidity and overgrown vegetation. Vines dripped down palisades, and wild grasses sprouted through cracks in streets that once were smoothly paved. Some species of local bug was filling the air with a noise halfway between a rattle and a screech. He didn't know what caused the Gree to abandon it a millennia ago, but Cody supposed it had something to do with the atmosphere; there was too much oxygen in it for the Gree, but for a few humans, it made a great place to stow away contraband medical supplies for Rebel groups.

Built into a mountain, the ruins swept upward towards higher peaks in the distance. Mist rose up from the valleys, and from where Cody stood, he could see the focal point the entire complex was built around.

An upright, stone circle stood at the end of what was once a processional walkway.

The walkway itself was bordered by sloping, relief-covered stone walls that led up into rows of auditorium seating; the whole area had a theatrical feel to it. When they first found the place six months ago, he and Barriss guessed it was where they held some kind of religious rites. The circle certainly seemed symbolic of something important, and there was some kind of altar in front of it, though it was circular in shape and tilted, with stylized constellations patterned all over it. The same patterns were carved into the stone circle, as well.

They left it alone. The Gree were long gone, and it seemed disrespectful to fiddle with their things.

Then, yesterday, while they were moving several fresh crates of bacta into their cache in the lower ring of the complex, the giant stone circle…_turned on_. Energy coalesced in the center of it, burst out like water and light, and then settled into luminescent pool.

And out stepped four humans.

Well, three humans, and Teal'c. He said he was something called a _Jaffa_, but as far as Barriss could figure, that meant human with some sort of parasite infesting his abdominal region. He had two Force signatures, and she described the creature in his belly as potently and _disturbingly_ imbued with the Dark Side.

Teal'c seemed completely in control of whatever it was in his belly, but Cody was keeping an eye on the large man, just in case. The entire situation was bizarre.

They called themselves peaceful explorers, from a planet called Earth, and they really weren't sure how they got _this far_ from their homeworld. Apparently the stone circle – the _Stargate_ – didn't normally do inter_galactic_ travel. Just interstellar.

The one named Carter was running around trying to find any remaining Gree technology, while attempting to determine what went wrong with the device. The one named Jackson was simply running around and taking holos of the entire complex, raving about Ancients and new, undiscovered races. O'Neill, like Teal'c and Cody, seemed to have decided the best thing to do, in an unquantifiable situation, was to keep an eye on the other guy, just to be safe. He was pacing around not far from the Stargate, occasionally helping Carter with her work.

At the moment, Jackson was snapping holos of the processional way and talking to Barriss, who was likely informing him of what she knew of the Gree species, judging by the animated gesturing. The group seemed honest enough, and other than the bizarre thing in Teal'c abdomen, Barriss sensed they had no ill-intent, and seemed to genuinely just want to go home – apparently after Jackson holographed the entire place from top to bottom.

Of course, the travelers had no idea Barriss was a Jedi, or that the medical supplies they were transporting were contraband; Cody knew that they suspected something off with their cover story, which was another reason why he was keeping an eye on them.

Still, they'd passed a peaceful night together, and in an attempt at being friendly, he and Barriss shared some of their meals with fresh vegetables from Alderaan, as well as a pot of caf with the quartet. That seemed to help smooth relations, as the travelers only had dried field rations. Though the conversation last night was cordial, it was not warm.

"I didn't mean to offend," Cody said, looking again at the large man beside him.

Teal'c looked at him again, with another lift of his eyebrow. "Your curiosity is understandable."

That sounded like Teal'c wasn't angry for him asking. Cody nodded once, folding his arms over his chest and looking out over the complex; it was an impressive sight, now that he took the time to pay attention to it. The gas giant was directly overhead, looming over everything, and the yellow sun was bright in the distance. Jackson was dragging Barriss by the elbow farther along the processional, and Cody gave a wry grin at the sight. He'd almost be jealous if it weren't so blatantly obvious Jackson was only interested in the reliefs.

The team – SG-1, they called themselves – was learning a great deal about this moon, and a bit about their galaxy in general. Last night during dinner, he and Barriss had found themselves warily answering questions about the state of their home galaxy.

It seemed only fair SG-1 answer a few questions as well.

Carefully, and hoping he wasn't making some kind of insult, Cody asked, "You were a slave?"

Teal'c answered, with the same deep, mild tone, "I am a Jaffa."

Cody resisted the urge to sigh. He'd said that already, and it meant nothing to him. "Which means what, exactly?"

Teal'c shifted slightly, his grip adjusting slightly on the length of his rather peculiar looking staff-blaster. "The Jaffa are the foundation on which the Goa'uld built their empires in our home galaxy." He paused, eyes skimming across the complex laying before them, then continued. "The Goa'uld are a parasitic race that has enslaved much of the galaxy, calling themselves gods. The Jaffa are trained since birth to serve them and do battle for them."

Cody looked at Teal'c, then towards the Stargate, O'Neill, and Carter. He didn't have any details, but that simple explanation provided an outline he could follow - the Goa'uld, a parasitic race that enslaved much of the galaxy. He didn't know what, precisely, that thing was Teal'c that was carrying inside him, but a race prone towards building empires and enslaving galaxies would certainly be steeped in the Dark Side. It fit Barriss' description of the second Force signature concentrated in his abdomen.

_Jaffa are trained since birth to serve them and do battle for them_. Cody grimaced, unfolding his arms from across his chest. It was too warm to shove his hands into the pockets of his bantha leather jacket, but he wished he could find a way of more comfortably hiding the sudden clenching of his fists. Trained since birth to do battle. That sounded entirely too familiar. His expression darkened into scowl, and he tried to ease it; Teal'c would not know of clones, of the GAR, of stormtroopers, and this was a complicated enough subject to discuss; he didn't need Teal'c misinterpreting his responses.

Teal'c clearly was no longer working for these _Goa'uld_ anymore. His staff-blaster was of a very different technology than the strange, primitive looking kinetic powder-and-bullet based blasters the rest of SG-1 carried; Goa'uld technology, most likely. It didn't take a clone Commander like Cody to tell that Teal'c knew very well how to use his weapon. Every motion the man made outlined his training. The man was a soldier, and if he'd been raised to serve the Goa'uld, that meant he had, at some time, deserted.

He snorted once, unable to suppress a dry laugh. Teal'c turned to him, that eyebrow flexing upward again. For a man so stone-faced, he had amazingly expressive eyebrows. "You're a deserter," Cody said.

The eyebrow remained raised, and Teal'c tilted his head in what Cody recognized as acknowledgement, and perhaps curiosity. Cody knew he wasn't speaking scornfully, but with amusement. That wasn't the usual reaction someone gave if they told you they were a traitor and deserter.

The Dark Side seemed to exist everywhere. Goa'uld in one galaxy, Sith in another, and they all wanted armies to fight for them. "The Republic used to be something amazing," Cody started, a vague smile on his lips as he looked up at the gas giant hanging overhead. "Until it became so corrupt it couldn't stand, and a Sith took over. He played two sides off each other, and stuck an army of clones in the middle of it all." His face hardened. "An army trained since birth to serve and do battle."

Hearing his own words echoed back at him, Teal'c straightened and turned so that his full attention was now on Cody. Cody turned enough so he could more easily meet the Jaffa's dark eyes. He knew he shouldn't be saying so much, but if what this man said were true, and he had no reason to lie, they were very much the same.

"You deserted as well," Teal'c surmised.

Cody nodded once. "Why did you leave?"

"I had a mentor who taught me the wisdom of doubt, and to question that which I was taught to believe infallible." He then turned and looked at the rest of SG-1. "And then I met those who could defy gods and live." He returned his gaze to Cody, and this time, the arch of his brow seemed to be a querying one.

"I was ordered to kill the man I respected most, and learned to question needless slaughter on my own." He looked down towards Barriss, but thought of Rex and of Ahsoka. "And I had a couple friends who were a few steps ahead of me." He smiled, and looked again at Teal'c. The large man was still unsmiling, but there was a softness in his eyes that was not there a few minutes ago, and he lacked some of the wariness he had exhibited since their meeting. They had an understanding.

A burst of light and energy erupted from the Stargate, and the two men looked across the auditorium seating to see O'Neill clap Carter on the shoulder.

"Seems your friend has your Stargate back on," Cody said.

"Indeed."

The two men paused for a moment before turning towards each other, looking out across the ruins of what was once, so many millennia ago, a great civilization. The grey ring of the Stargate stood starkly against the bright sky, once again tying two places, so very far apart, together.

The clone and the Jaffa turned and descended the steps they stood on, so that they could join their friends.

* * *

I really wanted to write a mini-crossover using Teal'c and one of the clones. The situation of the clones in _Star Wars_ has always reminded me of the situation of the Jaffa in _Stargate SG-1_, being trained since birth to serve as soldiers in wars that were not their own. Initially I wanted to use Rex here, but was having a hard time picturing it. Eventually I switched to Cody, since Cody's reason for staying with the Empire so long in _Said the Joker_ is very similar to Teal'c's reason for staying First Prime of Apophis as long as he did. I thought it'd be neat to make them have a little chat.

Also, for anyone wondering, this is _definitely_ non-canon in regards to my _Said the Joker_-verse and exists in its own little bubble.

And a big shout out to everyone who's been reviewing lately, new and old – and also to those of you favoriting!

FireZenzizenzizenzic, LongLivetheClones, KatiaSwift, Sarge1995, sachariah, Librarian Girl, Count Mallet, Admiral Daala, DoubleEO, Jadedsnowtiger, laloga, Jess Marylin, Chewbrok, PadawanJesslinFett, AwRitr, Sandd, InkStarsandSteelSkies, AaylaKit, Dawn of Time, Taraum, Queen Ceilidh, xander867, SerendipityAEY and any others I may have missed.

Hugs to you all, for simply being awesome. Thank you for taking a moment to let me know you enjoyed the story. It always means a lot to me, knowing you've enjoyed my little ramblings in here.

Additionally, there's some **updates on my profile page**, about _Smile_ and the new fic I've been working on, if you're interested.

~Queen


	30. Crossover 4: A Dance

Author's Note: This ficlet ties in with my one shot _A Burning Boat_. You can probably understand this without reading that, but it would be helpful.

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Crossover 4. A Dance

* * *

She ignited her lightsaber.

Holding it still and parallel to the ground, Ahsoka watched as the other girl stepped forward to examine it, blue eyes wide and mouth slightly open. She wasn't startled when she lit the blade, so Ahsoka assumed she'd seen this before. It gave her hope that Master Pizan had been given a proper burial, with her lightsaber in her hands.

She was also becoming increasingly hopeful that the data files Master Pizan had collected were still in once piece, and that was what the boy – Hiccup – was now retrieving. If they were, Ahsoka's solo mission would be a success, important intelligence on Separatist movements in the sector would be revealed, and Master Pizan would not have died in vain.

The girl standing before her, though – Astrid – was admiring the length of her lightsaber with obvious awe. She blinked, and bit her lower lip, looking down the length of the blade. She seemed to know not to touch it, and Ahsoka's hopes rose that it was because they'd found Master Pizan's lightsaber, and were either keeping it safe or had buried it with her.

Astrid backed up a step and lifted an arm, holding it parallel to the length of the lighsaber. Ahsoka blinked once, trying to figure out what she was doing, and then realized she was taking a crude measurement of the weapon's length. The blade was perhaps a handspan longer than Astrid's arm, not including the hilt.

Astrid said something then, a string of guttural sounding words in what was clearly a polite, eager tone. She lifted her hands tentatively towards the hilt of Ahsoka's lightsaber, and Ahsoka interpreted this as "_I really want to see your lightsaber!_"

Ahsoka pulled her lightsaber back quickly, trying not to look alarmed. Astrid's face fell, and Ahsoka felt a bit bad. A Jedi didn't just hand over her lightsaber to fulfill someone else's curiosity. Astrid was clearly a warrior of some kind – she had an axe strapped to her back that looked like it would be more appropriate for a man five times her size, and Ahsoka had little doubt she knew how to use it.

Ahsoka bit her lip, looking at Astrid. They were about the same age, she judged. Ahsoka smiled a little, trying to look consoling. She was pretty sure the girl was just curious, and judging by the technology level she'd seen so far, a lightsaber would look like something fantastical in the eyes of these people. She wondered what the two humans made of her, a Togruta. This planet was the most technologically primitive place she'd ever seen; they didn't have basic electricity or radio capabilities, much less anything spacefaring.

Atmospheric flight, though…Ahsoka glanced past Astrid to look at the brightly colored creature preening on the rocky beach they stood on. Astrid and Hiccup flew on those creatures like it was nothing. The creatures looked something like krayt dragons, but with wings, and far sleeker and clearly more amiable in personality. The blue dragon was industriously cleaning the underside of a wing, making quiet little squawking noises to herself while she worked. The dragon dwarfed the little red and grey Jedi starfighter parked beside her.

She had to admit, the dragons were impressive. It was rare that a species like that got along with humans.

Astrid sighed and looked again, longingly, at the lightsaber. "Sorry," Ahsoka apologized, and that earned her a puzzled look from the human girl. This would be so much easier if she had a protocol droid along to translate. These people were so far in the backwater they didn't even speak Basic, much less use technology.

Still, if she couldn't let Astrid handle her lightsaber, she could, at least, show her what it could do.

With a grin, Ahsoka dropped into the opening stance for the first Shien kata. Looking over her shoulder, she locked eyes with Astrid, giving her a wide smile she hoped was disarming. Then she slid into the second stance of the kata, slowly, letting the green blade of her lightsaber hum around her in an arc. The third step she made wide, careful to avoid hitting Astrid, who was watching avidly; not only the track of the blade, but also of Ahsoka's footwork, a small smile spreading across her face as she watched.

Ahsoka slid into the fourth step, then the fifth, slowly and steadily. The steps were intimately familiar to her, after so many years of practice. She could hear the steady sound of the beach's small stones sliding underfoot while she moved; then they began to echo, two pairs of feet instead of one.

Ahsoka looked again at Astrid. The human girl had her axe off her back and in her hands. She was a few steps away from Ahsoka, but poised in a very similar position. Their feet mirrored each other - weight on the back leg, while the front foot barely touched the ground. Ahsoka, though, was turned to the side, left arm out slightly from the hip, palm down, while in her right hand, the green blade of her lightsaber was out in a riposte. Astrid had adapted the motion for her heavier axe, and had both hands on the grip, right a few inches over left, ready to whirl the thing in an arc instead of perform a straight stab.

Slowly, Ahsoka followed through with her stab, bringing herself around, her knees soft, bent, so that her body was low. Astrid mirrored it, her axe moving differently than Ahsoka's lightsaber, but maintaining the pattern.

Ahsoka looked up at her, startled. She moved into the next step, and the next, Astrid not even a half second behind her. She twirled, and Astrid copied it, the heavy axe whistling through the air in a pitched counterpoint to the lightsaber's varied, doppler thrum.

They _danced_. Ahsoka began to move faster, Astrid half a beat behind. Together, they moved, back and forth, in darting jabs and swift blows, weight shifting from one leg to the other as they spun. Pebbles scattered beneath their feet as they slid their feet from one position to the next, always parallel to each other, the motions only slightly different and dependant on their weapon of choice.

At some point, Ahsoka realized she was grinning wildly; it was almost a challenge, to see how well she could do, how fast she could go without losing Astrid, and how quickly the human girl in armor and furs could keep up and adapt.

The sea beside them was grey, and the sky was beginning to sink into the reds and purples of sunset. They barely even heard a fresh flapping of wings in the sky as they moved together, running through kata after kata, and ignoring the return of Hiccup and his black dragon Toothless on the beach.

The dance went on, every motion growing more precise and practiced as they restarted the series of Shien forms again, and Astrid found herself repeating steps. They spun around each other, whirling, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Ahsoka was still long enough to see that Astrid was grinning just as wildly as she.

The two girls, paused in their steps, breathing hard, simultaneously burst into laughter.

Applause caught their attention, and not too far away was Hiccup, grinning and clapping his hands, while Toothless and Stormflight, on either side of him, thumped the rocky shore with their tails and let out rumbles of appreciation. Ahsoka could even hear R3's mechanical trill in the background, however overwhelmed it was by the noisier dragons.

"I guess some things defy language, huh?" Ahsoka asked no one in particular, and though neither Astrid nor Hiccup understood the words, they both smiled at her.

And she smiled back.

* * *

I don't think I'm ever going to write a full version of _A Burning Boat_, but this was one scene I always had in my head – Ahsoka and Astrid on one of the beaches around Berk, practicing a Jedi kata together. The crossover this time is with _How to Train Your Dragon_ – if you haven't seen HTTYD, by all means, see it! Great movie, so much fun.

~Queen


	31. Gossip

_Smile_

* * *

Gossip.

* * *

"Wish I could have seen _that_," Echo laughed.

Fives joined in the laughter, and scraped a razor along his chin, flicking some cream down into the sink of the shower room. "Never thought I'd seen the Captain run that fast! For that matter, I didn't know Commander Tano was that good of a shot! Usually uses her lightsaber. Pity Commander Offee spoiled the show."

Echo grabbed a towel and wiped the last of his own shaving cream off his face, then ran his hands over his cheeks and neck. "Commander Offee? Why was she here?"

Fives shrugged. "Not sure. She and Commander Tano had some words, then headed out in a rush with the Captain running after them." Ducking his head, he splashed water onto his face to rinse off the last of the shaving cream, then started packing up his kit. "You should have been there."

"Yeah, well, I like to sleep on occasion. When did this all happen?"

"Last night, around 0400."

"You're up way too kriffing early," Echo muttered, and the two of them turned and headed out of the locker room, their voices fading as they moved down the hallway.

Neither of them paid any attention to the attention they were being paid.

* * *

Trip dropped his tray down onto the table, swung a leg over the stool and dropped down into the huddle.

"You won't _believe_ what I just heard."

Three heads lifted from their respective lunches. Food was the most important thing, but gossip was a high second. All day long, fight, eat, train, fight, train, sleep, train, eat, fight. Entertainment involved cleaning blasters, sabacc, cleaning armor, some arm wrestling, and, everyone's favorite – news.

Everyone huddled closer to Trip, who grinned, pleased to be the center of attention and the bearer of exciting news. "So, last night, the Commander and the Captain were having it out!"

Lookout, Quip and Wrench stared at him for a moment, then grinned. "Yeah?" Lookout asked, once Trip's dramatic pause was complete. "A fight? Over what?"

Trip frowned. He hadn't heard what the fight was over. Or even where it took place, for that matter. But he did know who else was involved. He lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder, then said, "I don't know all the details, but from what I hear, it was something about Commander Offee." He gave them a knowing look, hoping it would cover up for his lack of practical details. "Apparently our Commander was waving a blaster around."

Three faces, all agape and wide-eyed, stared back at him.

* * *

Wrench knelt beside Tinker, who was occupied with fixing one of the fuel lines on one of the AT-TE's.

"I can't believe it, personally," he said, handing Tinker a hydrospanner, then picking up a diagnostic scanner. "What would the Captain be doing with Commander Offee to make Commander Tano _that_ mad? I mean, yeah, she gets worked up sometimes, but enough to chase him around with a blaster? She must have been _pissed_."

Tinker looked back over his shoulder, only half listening. Gossip was great, but having AT-TE's leaking tibanna on a battlefield where things tended to be on fire was a little more important at the moment. Half listening, he sighed and scratched the back of his head, frowning at the fuel line. "Yeah, well, you know the Jedi. Not supposed to get involved with people much, you know. Now why is this still _leaking_?"

Wrench stared at Tinker. He was right. Jedi weren't supposed to get involved with people. He'd heard that before. It was why General Kenobi's very tragical romance with Senator Amidala during the Naboo blockade never worked out. So _tragic_.

Poor Commander Offee. But why was Commander Tano angry about it?

* * *

Whiz gaped. "No _way!_"

Trip and Wrench were nodding their heads sadly. They compared stories. It all made sense.

Whiz cursed. "Damn, I wish I was an officer."

Wrench sighed, wistfully. "I mean, we all look alike, so what's the Captain got that I don't?"

"Rank. And two hot Jedi chasing him, apparently. I need to get me a kama."

* * *

"Still doesn't explain why she was chasing them with a _blaster_," Shellshock said, looking skeptical, his arms folded over his chest as he leaned back against the wall of the engine room. They were in hyperspace, everything was currently running smoothly, so he figured he could apply some of his attention to getting details.

Whiz shook his head. "It's competition, get it? Captain's 501st. Commander Offee's moving in on the Commander's turf."

Shellshock rolled his eyes. "Commander wouldn't go down without a fight, if you ask me. Sounds like she already lost her turf."

Goggling at Shellshock, who was now smirking with his own cleverness, Whiz gasped. _Commander Offee stole Captain Rex from Commander Tano! _

* * *

"But I thought Offee and Tano always got along," Quip said.

"So did the Captain and the Commander," Lookout shot back, but not before glancing around the barracks to see how many brothers were listening in. Not too many. He pitched his voice low, so that it wouldn't carry too far. He said, sagely, "Maybe we've got this backward. Remember, it was the _Captain_ the Commander was shooting at, not Commander Offee."

Wrench gasped. _The Captain _cheated_ on Commander Tano with her friend!_

* * *

"I'll never forgive him!" Wrench declared, clenching his hand into a fist dramatically, a wet razor clutched within it. "And all this time I thought he was such a great brother."

"I know Commander Tano can be a bit reckless, but I can't believe she'd chase both of them all over the ship with a blaster," Quip said, shaking his head. "It must have driven her insane, her best friend running off with the Captain. Maybe that was why Commander Offee was here in the middle of the night!"

"Visiting the Captain in the middle of the night?" Trip asked, nosing into the conversation as he took his place in line at the locker room sinks. He grinned and leaned in to grab one of the cans of shaving cream. "Sounds clandestine."

Lookout frowned. "That'd be awfully hard for Commander Offee, being 41st."

"They were here not too long ago," Trip mentioned. "Just last week. You know how General Unduli seems to be around a lot lately."

"You don't think she's helping Commander Offee see the Captain?" Wrench asked, aghast.

"Nah," Trip said, toweling off his hair, then grinning. "_I _think she's here to see Skywalker, but that would be idle speculation."

* * *

Ahsoka laced her fingers together and stretched for the ceiling. She glanced at Rex, walking beside her from the landing bay. "Well, I'm glad that's over."

He nodded once, in agreement. Being called away for missions at all hours was to be expected, but he wished he'd had a proper night's sleep beforehand. The middle of the night was the only time the training areas were mostly empty. At least they'd be able to get a bit of sleep before the next suicide mission came up.

"Commander!" someone cried, and Ahsoka turned around in time to see two troopers rushing up to them, skidding to a halt as close as they could without getting right in her face. She leaned back, bewildered.

"Wrench? Whiz?"

"Are you alright, Commander?" Whiz demanded, face a mask of intent concern. Ahsoka gave him a weird look. She was sweaty, dirty, and disgusting from five days of slogging through a swamp, and she was really glad she couldn't tell exactly how much she stank, but she was in one piece, not covered in blood, and not on the way to the medbay.

"Yes…?" she answered, slowly. Had Whiz hit his head?

Wrench was acting just as oddly, and was glaring at Rex. "That was low, sir. Low! And you may outrank me, but I'm not afraid to say it! Low!"

Rex looked at Ahsoka, confused. "Uh, yes. Very low, Wrench. I'll not be so...low, next time."

Wrench scowled at him, then cast Ahsoka an incredibly sympathetic look. The two troopers straightened up and saluted her. "We're here if you need us, Commander," Whiz said, then shot Rex a black look before the two of them began to stomp down the corridor, casting not-so-surreptitious looks back at them.

Ahsoka leaned in towards Rex and whispered, "Do you think some of the food in the mess went bad?"

Rex shrugged, staring after the two troopers. "My guess is the water supply."

Ahsoka laughed.

They got about ten feet further down the corridor before Trip burst into view. "Commander! Are you alright?"

Again? Ahsoka blinked. "I'm fine, Trip. Why wouldn't I be?"

Trip's jaw dropped, and he nodded, beaming at her. "That's great, Commander!" He looked between Ahsoka and Rex, standing next to each other. "Did you two…um…?"

"Did we 'um' what?" Ahsoka asked.

"Get that thing…with Commander Offee…sorted out?"

"The _thing_ with Commander Offee is _classified_, Trip," Ahsoka stated, folding her arms across her chest. The mission with Master Luminara and Barriss was supposed to be _secret_, and if Trip knew, half the 501st knew, with the way the man talked. Was that why Wrench and Whiz were acting weird? Ahsoka sighed and looked at Rex, hoping he'd do something.

Trip's eyes went enormous. "_Classified?_" he squeaked, looking at Rex with astonishment.

"Yes, _classified_," Rex repeated, starting to get tired. He had no energy for what was turning into some sort of silliness, so he put on his best Captainly glare. Trip shrunk back a little, but his eyes remained huge in his face. "Good _night_, Trip."

"Oh. Right. Good night, Captain. Commander." He shuffled back a few steps, then turned and hurried back towards the barracks.

"Thanks, Rex."

"You're welcome, Commander."

Ahsoka sighed. "Hey, Rex? Tomorrow, you think you can train me on the blaster cannon simulation again? It came in pretty handy."

Rex rolled his eyes. "You just liked using the gatling function on the B1's."

She grinned. "But they go down so _easy_, Rex!"

He sighed, though he couldn't help but wonder why it took Ahsoka so long to discover the joys of heavy artillery. "Fine. Tomorrow, late, after everyone else is done."

"Thanks, Rex." She patted him once on the arm before turning down the corridor leading to her quarters. "Get some sleep. Good night, and see you tomorrow."

* * *

"_Classified?_"

"And they were casual as anything about it, too," Trip confirmed to the group huddled around his bunk.

"They were looking awfully friendly out there, earlier," Whiz confirmed. "Maybe they made up. They were gone for almost a week."

"But why _classified?_" Lookout asked, and the huddle of men began to speculate.

Trip's head suddenly snapped up. "We've got it all wrong."

Everyone looked at Trip, who had a horrified look on his face as he continued, "The Commander was shooting at the Captain, right? And they were gone for a few days, right? They have an argument, come back like nothing's wrong, after spending time with Commander Offee, one of the Jedi healers, and Commander Tano's friend, right? So she can be trusted?"

Several nods.

Wrench caught on first. "I saw this on a holo!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Lookout asked, bewildered. "What?"

Trip lowered his voice, and everyone drew closer around. "The Captain? He got Commander Tano _pregnant_."

* * *

And thus the rumor mill continued to churn….

* * *

Utter silliness, I know. Thanks to laloga for the 'gossip' idea - and wow was that suggestion from a long time ago!

~Queen


	32. Ascension

_Smile_

* * *

Ascension.

* * *

There really wasn't any choice involved. It was either up and over, go around for miles, or try to walk through a nest of gundarks.

Neither of them wanted to pick a fight with a bunch of hungry gundarks, and, separated from the rest of the group already, they didn't have time for another detour. So, over the mountain it was.

The sound of Cody's ascension cable firing was a quiet puff, followed by the soft crack of the cable's sharp end lodging itself a hundred meters up the cliff side in an outcropping of craggy grey limestone. He tugged on it experimentally once, then twice, to ensure it was well embedded and capable of carrying weight. Apparently satisfied, he turned and held out a hand.

Barriss stepped closer, burying any sense of nervousness behind a calm, determined façade. The past two days of cutting their way through the fetid jungle in an attempt to regroup with the rest of Ghost Company had been in turns embarrassing, awkward, exciting, and oddly intimate. Long treks and difficult missions were usual for both of them, but there were usually others around: Master Unduli, Master Kenobi or other troopers that ensured continued formality and propriety. With only the two of them, the formality and propriety they both clung to seemed oddly artificial, a construct of politeness they maintained more out of habit than anything else.

It was hard to cling to regulations when you were stranded and needed to rely on someone else to survive.

Now it seemed she'd need to cling to him physically as well. The cliff face was too flat for her to safely climb, the limestone shearing off into a wall with long, tall cracks rather than something rough enough to provide hand holds. She could not climb by hand, and there were too few perches too far apart for her to try to Force-jump her way up. That left Cody's ascension cable.

There were two ways they could go about this, and Barriss knew which she would prefer immediately. She could try to ride up, piggyback style, but the thought of wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, even from the wrong direction, was entirely too unsettling a concept, and she would not allow herself to blush the entire way up the mountain with completely inappropriate thoughts running through her head. Utterly unacceptable and unbecoming of a Jedi.

The second method seemed much less distressing. She stepped in and slid an arm over the back of his shoulders, and the other across his chest, fitting herself neatly against him, tucking her shoulder under his arm. He hesitated for a moment, then wrapped an arm firmly around her waist, and Barriss found herself pulled tightly up against him, her body pressed snug against his armor. His fingers flexed nervously in the soft space above her hip and below her ribcage, almost tickling. She breathed in a sharp breath and tried not to laugh at the touch.

Perhaps this wasn't a better idea after all. She couldn't see his face under his helmet, and it took a great deal of effort not to laugh or flush or bite her lip nervously.

She gave him a firm nod, and Cody's head lifted to look upwards. A slight tug on his ascension wand, and their feet lifted off the rocky ground as they slowly began their ascent.

Sharp rocks, everywhere below. The place was a maze and there was little vegetation beyond sickly gray-yellow moss and other fungi. The jungle beyond, though, was ripe with color, green and brown trees punctuated with streaks of yellow or red from flowers or fruits. The screeching howl of an animal interrupted the air, and a flock of reptilian avians rose squawking from the canopy.

They bounced, and Barriss turned her head back to see what Cody was doing. He'd gotten his feet between them and the rock face, and was lightly pushing them off while they rose higher into the air, slow but steady. Her hair, loosed from its dark hood the day before while they traveled, whipped out long and wild, streaming in the wind. He adjusted his grip on her, tightening it further. "You alright, Commander Offee?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied, glancing downward. Her legs dangled uselessly, feet peeping out from the dark hem of her now-tattered black robes. They were both much splattered with mud from all the hiking in the jungle and from the intermittent thunderstorms. She must stink a great deal. "Would it be more effective if I kept us at a constant presence from the rock? You wouldn't have to jump and there would be less risk of hitting the surface and potential injury." She looked up to see him staring down at her again, the matte black of his helmet's visor inscrutable. It seemed terribly unfair for him to see her but for her to be unable to see him. She had a sudden desire to remove the helmet from his head and see his face; he'd been incredibly stubborn about wearing it constantly since their first awkward encounter the first day, which involved a great deal of huddling together during a particularly nasty storm.

It was truly unbecoming of a Jedi to use the Force to snoop around other people's thoughts, but since it was terribly unfair for him to be able to hide under his helmet, Barriss decided cheating a little with the Force was more a leveling of the field than real cheating.

So she looked up into the face of his helmet and _pried_ - just a little- into his current state of mind.

Her eyes widened a little bit. Well, at least she wasn't the only one struggling to keep her thoughts from straying into entirely inappropriate areas. Cody was apparently finding hauling her up the mountain surprisingly enjoyable, for all his stiffness and formality about it.

"That would be helpful, thank you Commander," he intoned politely.

With a nod, she leaned up against him again, and felt a little ripple of _consternation, frustration_, and _excitement_ pulse through him. It was almost entertaining, and she chided herself for enjoying the effect she had on him. With a very gentle Force push, they floated slightly away from the grey rock, bodies coming to hover half an arm's length from the surface as they continued to rise.

She applied the Force as evenly as she could, to hold them at a comfortable distance from the stone surface, but maintaining such a steady push required a great deal of fine control for such a long time. They wavered periodically, sometimes wobbling out a few extra inches, sometimes swinging a bit too close to the cliff and Cody would bounce them off the rock with his feet again. They worked in silence, smoothly assisting each other as they neared the end of the ascension cable.

They were well above the rainforest canopy now, though it was in the distance. Far below, Barriss could see the nest of gundarks, two adults moving around in the rubble and mess of bones that housed the adolescents. There were three younglings in the nest, apparently huddled around a recent kill and eating messily while the adults looked on. Not something they wanted to fall into. She braced herself against him.

"Almost there," Cody said, and Barriss looked up again. They were halfway up the precipice, but almost to the end of the cable. This would be the difficult part, sending up the cable again. There was a narrow lip of rock that jutted out from the rest of the smooth cliff face, and it would have to be from there that they deployed the cable again. The ride came to a smooth halt as they reached the outcropping. "Can you hold on?"

His voice was tense; he didn't want to release her to dangle over the canyon below, but there was no choice in the matter. She nodded and reached out, fingers grasping the rock tightly. "Ready," she said, and he slowly slipped his arm off of her waist, to pull himself up onto the ledge and rip the cable's tip out of the hard stone. Barriss hung on, closing her eyes and calming herself as a breeze moved past her, setting her skirts rippling. This high up, the air was rushing in gusts around the mountains, and she found herself buffeted by the wind, dark hair flying wildly around her face, sticking to her cheeks. Another soft puff of air signaled Cody's successfully jettisoning the cable a second time, and a moment later, she felt his presence beside her on the cliff again.

She opened her eyes in time to see him reach for her, his weight supported by the rappel line; once he had an arm around her, high under her arms, she twisted off the ledge she was clinging to and got an arm around him. With an arm already around her, her arm slid over his, up around his neck, and her other arm could only follow. This time, she wasn't just clinging to his side, she was pressed fully against him. The rock was hard against her back, and Cody in his armor was only slightly more pliant. She hooked her fingers into the joints of his armor, where the back of the chest plate ended before becoming shoulder guards. His black bodysuit was saturated with sweat and warmth. Her robe wasn't likely to be any better, slick from jungle heat and nerves.

They swayed on another gust of wind. Cody's voice was rough when he asked, "Ready?"

"Yes."

They began to ascend again, and he lifted a foot to push them off the rock. Barriss managed to keep a strangled noise inside her throat when his foreleg rose up between hers in the process, tangled in her skirts. She pressed her forehead into his shoulder in momentary embarrassment, then began to apply the Force with as much firmness and control as she could. Cody seemed to realize where his leg was a moment later, and she felt a buzz of _embarrassment_ course through him as well. She shivered; there was something odd thrumming under his _embarrassment_, something needful that coiled low in his abdomen.

The slow rise on the ascension cable was becoming agonizingly embarrassing. They continued to inch up into the blue sky, and the jungle and the rocks dropped away below them; the gundarks were now small, dark red splotches moving across the ground. The height was dizzying, and a fall from here would be difficult to manage; if she could avoid the gundark nest, she could probably slow herself with the Force enough to land. Probably. Catching Cody would be exceptionally difficult if it happened. The sooner they were up the cliff, the sooner they could work their way down the other side. From the way the promontory jutted out, the other side should be more of a slow gradient downward rather than a sharp drop. At least, so they hoped.

The climb began to slow; Barriss twisted around as much as she could to see the top of the cliff approaching. At her motion, Cody grasped at her more tightly, hard enough that she winced as the edge of his forearm plating cut into her shoulder blades. "Too tight!"

He eased his grip immediately. "Sorry, Commander."

She nodded rapidly, several times, grasping at him as she felt herself slide. "Now a little too loose."

The grip tightened again, and she felt a little more stable. She couldn't help but notice she was a couple inches lower than she was before. It made her nervous and she hugged him more tightly, trying to wriggle back up to where she was. Cody made an interesting gasping noise at the movement, but otherwise stayed silent save for some ragged breathing. She got her chin over his shoulder again and clung tightly; she could feel his chest rising and falling under his armor.

The ascension slowed. "We're here," he announced, tightly. "Be careful."

She nodded again, and felt his other arm let go of the cable and circle her waist, to help guide her upward. She twisted around and reached, fingers seeking out flaws in the rock to use as handholds. They had come to a stop half a meter from the ledge; she'd have to climb the last little bit. Her fingers curled around a dip in the stone, and she tested it warily; it held. Slowly, she applied weight to it, and reached up a bit further, Cody's arms slipping from her waist to below her hips as he inched her upward in accordance with her pulling. She stopped for a moment when she realized his arms were now around her knees, closed her eyes, and wished she could take a moment to cover her face with a hand. If his arms were around her knees, her rear had to be right in his face. Wonderful.

Her left hand reached up again, this time immediately finding purchase, and plenty of it – the top of the bluff. She strained up again, her right hand joining her left, and then she was able to pull herself up, careful to keep her legs together and close to the rock to keep from accidentally kicking Cody in the face. She pulled herself up further and twisted, sliding along the top of the stone until she was lying flat across the surface.

It was windswept and grey, but it was the top, and it was broad enough that she could see they would not have to use the ascension cable on the way back down; at least not immediately. It would be easier going. She rolled herself up onto her knees, then leaned back out over the ledge, a hand extended. Cody was braced against the rock, trying to pull himself up on the same hand holds she had used. Seeing her hand extended towards him, he reached for her fingers, straining, but not quite reaching.

"Hold on," she told him firmly, keeping her hand reaching out as she touched the Force, gathering it under him and buoying him upward. His feet lifted from the rock as he floated upward the last few inches it took to reach her hand. He grasped her wrist firmly as she augmented her strength with the Force to half float, half pull him up over the rim, the last couple feet of the ascension cable trailing limply after him as he crested the edge. She reached out with her other hand to pull him forward so that the bulk of him was hovering over the solid ground instead of hovering over empty air.

Then he began to fight it, wobbled, and toppled over with a small cry of surprise, which ended in him crashing into Barriss heavily enough to knock her over and send them both sprawling across the rock.

Cody was heavy.

The armor was part of it, but he was also all muscle under his armor, and that alone gave him a fair amount of weight. She could hear his breathing, slightly modulated from his helmet's speakers. Though their pose was awkward, they both lay very still, catching their breath and feeling the relief of solid ground.

There was also something oddly comforting about the weight of him. He was so solid, but it was a more pliant solidity than the flat, hard stone under her back. He draped over her, molded against her, the top of his helmet just under her chin.

She lifted her hands and slipped them under the edge of his helmet and began to tug gently. He lifted his head and looked at her, head at a puzzled tilt, but the change in angle made it easier for her to pull it off him, and she found herself looking up into his sweaty face a moment later. She set the helmet aside and reached up, wiping some of the sweat off his brow. This time, she could see his eyes widen and dilate at the motion. His breath was warm and fast against her face.

She closed her eyes, and a moment later, felt a hand tentatively caress her tangled hair, fingers catching in the snarls that had formed from travelling free from her hood and blowing in the wind. It pooled around her head in a dark mass. The awkward touch was gentle, hesitant, but as it met no resistance, it grew bolder in that it was repeated two, then three times.

Warm, prickly skin pressed against her cheek, and she opened her eyes to see him close, pressing his unshaven cheek against hers. His breathing was still ragged, though she suspected this time it was not from the climb or the dangling in the air. She ran a hand over his hair, soothing him as much as herself. Their legs were tangled up together and this time, she didn't really mind. There would be awkwardness to come soon enough, once they stood again and started the next leg of their journey, to try to reach the rendezvous point in time for extraction.

Right now, though, there was a strange sense of contentment, curling up and hanging on to each other now that the latest obstacle was overcome.

She turned her head and pressed her lips against his rough cheek. He shivered once under the contact, turned his head to face hers, and, in one abrupt motion, pushed his lips against hers. It was clumsy, and fumbling, and a little off center, and really quite perfect in all its abrupt inelegance.

And it would have to be forgotten very soon, but as they both calmed from the steady rush of adrenaline that fueled them up the cliff, it was also very welcome.

Barriss sighed a little, and wrapped her arms around his neck again, and allowed herself to be something a little less than the model Jedi she usually was.

Kissing Cody was surprisingly pleasant, and amid their clumsy pressings of lips, she smiled. She felt light.

* * *

This one kind of hit me out of nowhere. I wanted to write random Cody and Barriss fluff, but it's hard to get them off on their own, and neither has a very fluffy personality. So, they're on a mission and they got separated from the rest of the group, and oh dear they have to go the long way around to meet back up with everyone, poor kids….

~Queen


	33. Little Girl

_Smile_

* * *

Little Girl.

* * *

The soft sound of the folded flimsiplast letter being set on the kitchen table seemed loud in the silence.

Shaeeah let her gaze linger on it for several long seconds, before tightly twining her fingers around the straps of her knapsack. She shrugged, shifting her weight so that it settled more comfortably on her shoulders. She'd packed as lightly as she could; a change of clothes, a few basic toiletries, her datapad, credits. For a long moment, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. The house still smelled faintly of dinner. She opened her eyes and she breathed out, looking around, absorbing everything. The table was where it always was, her chair was where it always was, as were Jekk's, Mom's, and Dad's. The radio was in its place on a shelf in the corner, the stove sat squat and dark against the back wall, a few dishes were lined up and drying in the rack beside the sink, the conservator gleamed a little, reflecting light from the overhead lamp.

Home.

She bowed her head and made fists around her knapsack straps, the tips of her lekku curling upward as she steeled herself. This time. This time, for sure.

Then there was the sound of a foot landing on a creaky step. She grimaced and turned around, seeing her father standing still on the second step from the floor. He was watching her, a hand on the railing and a sad look in his eyes. Shaeeah looked away, guiltily, towards the door.

Cut's footfalls were silent as he padded down the last two steps and approached her. "Not going to say goodbye?" he asked, and her eyes slunk back towards his. They were warm, though sad, and lined. He looked old; ever so much more than thirty, with durasteel grey hair and the beginnings of the thinness you could see in older men and women, the thinness that would someday evolve into the frailty of old age. Dad had always been a powerful man, a big man, a muscular man, but somewhere in the last few years she'd nearly caught up to him in height and now she barely had to glance up to look him in the eye. She had her own muscles from years of chores and farming.

Her brows drew together in consternation, but she met his gaze evenly when she replied. "Mom would have talked me out of it. Again." Turning slightly, she gestured at the kitchen table. "I left a letter." The words seemed weak, though, a paltry excuse for sneaking off in the middle of the night. Her lekku twitched in embarrassment and she tried not to flush as well.

This time. This time, for sure. The mantra she chanted to herself the entire past week gave her a little strength.

Dad was watching her, still with that sad look of warmth on his face, his lips curving upward into a somber smile. He chuckled once, and there was a resigned tone to it; he turned away from her and stepped over to the cabinet that housed the weapons, unlocking it and opening it. Her mother's long blaster rifle graced the top, perched on two hooks, while a DC-15 rested beneath it. Cut lifted it off the rack and turned around. He offered it to her. "You'll need this."

The old blaster was well cared for, clean. Her pale blue fingers slipped around it carefully. It was always heavier than she remembered, every time she picked it up. There was a weight to wielding it, a heaviness she suspected was more in her mind than in the actual mass involved in the weapon. "I can't take your deece, Dad," she said as she shook her head, pressing it back towards him.

He didn't accept it, and pressed it back towards her. "You're a good shot, Shaeeah. Best I've seen, and I've seen a fair number. They'll be able to use you." There was warmth in his praise, but his next words were grim. "Just remember what a blaster is for."

_Killing_. Blasters were for killing. She shuddered once, but took the carbine back into her hands. She didn't want to kill anyone, not really. But that would be part of it. Sometimes defending what was right involved death. It was ugly. She'd tell herself prettier things while she traveled, stories about standing up for freedom and justice. She would never like killing, even if it was for some lofty ideal. Blasters were for killing, even if that killing was in defense of something precious.

The durasteel was warm under her fingers, smooth except for where grooves fit into each other. Shaeeah turned aside and set it on the kitchen table, then swiftly turned back and stepped forward, flinging her arms around Cut's neck and burying her face in his shoulder, the way she did when she was a little girl and frightened of something too big or too strange. She felt him chuckle, deep in his chest, but his breath caught at the end of it, as he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

She mumbled into his shoulder, "I'm not gonna let them do to Saleucami what they did to Alderaan. You'll see, Dad."

A heavy hand patted her back once, twice, then squeezed her. "You're just one person, Shaeeah. Don't be reckless. Stay alive. You won't be able to write too often, but do it when you can. For your mother. Do you have a datapad?"

She nodded once, pulling away slightly. "Yes. Tell Mom and Jekk I'm sorry. For disappearing."

"They want you safe. So do I."

This time. This time, for sure. She withdrew, straightened, stood as tall as her height allowed. "I want you safe, too, Dad." She couldn't help but smile, just a little. It hurt to leave.

The DC-15 rested idly on the table, the matte black a deeper shade against the shadows creeping through the kitchen. There was no comfortable way of carrying it; the best she could do was hook it to her belt, so she did. It hung heavily, tugging downward. She'd need a thigh holster; something to pick up in town before she left.

Cut was watching her with a proud kind of sadness in his eyes. Shaeeah stepped forward again and embraced him briefly, this time with just one arm. "I love you, Daddy."

He smiled, but the sadness was still there. "I love you too, Shaeeah. Go. Before I change my mind and wake your mother."

Shaeeah grinned, but it faded swiftly into something a little sad.

This time. This time, for sure.

She turned away from Cut and walked to the door, opening it. The nighttime air was cool on her face. She took one, heavy step out onto the porch. A second step took her to the stairs, a third and fourth down them and then she was standing on the ground, dirt under her feet, and gravel. She turned and looked back. Cut was standing in the doorway, a hand on the frame. He lifted the other hand in farewell, and Shaeeah sucked in a deep breath and turned back to the yard.

She walked. The gravel crunched beneath her feet, and she could hear insects cricking in the tall grass and in the fields. She walked past the house, past the barn, and stepped onto the path that led both to and from the homestead. She stopped again, and turned back. The house stood as it always did, a lumpy brown, familiar shape that always meant comfort and safety and familiarity. The barn stood tall and still, looming in the dark. She could see the shed and the nuna house beyond it, and fields of grain. The night was clear, and beyond the fields she could see stars and one of the moons, waxing large.

Dad lingered in the doorway, watching. He did not wave, but she saw him bow his head towards her, once, in final acknowledgement.

Then he turned, entered the house, and closed the door behind him.

For a moment, it hurt. And then, with painful slowness, she smiled.

She wasn't his little girl anymore. It was sad, but it was good, too. There was a whole galaxy out there, waiting, and a life to be had and built.

Her peach and blue spangled lekku swung behind her as she spun back around towards the path that would lead her into town. It would take her time, to walk, to catch a transport into the spaceport, to find those who wanted to fight as well. But she would, given time.

This time. This time, for sure.

She began to walk, slowly, then faster, until the red sun began to rise.

* * *

So, I decided to read over Shaeeah's information on the Wookieepedia in preparation for this ficlet, and discovered the Wookiee had been updated with new information. Shaeeah is apparently a Human/Twi'lek hybrid, her biological father was human, and Jekk's name is now spelled Jek.

Some time ago, I wrote a Cut/Suu origins story called _Homestead_, before any of that information was up on the Wookieepedia, and _Homestead_ has been my personal canon for anything related to the Lawquanes since. So, though some of this may be a bit off from what the Wookieepedia says, I'm at least being consistent with myself, even if it's no longer completely canon anymore. So, squint a little, I guess?

Also, back in the day when writing _Homestead_, I imagined Shaeeah was the more adventurous of the two kids, and would be the one more likely to strike off on her own someday. I had a vague idea that she might run off to the Rebellion, because that would be neat, so that's what I did here.

~Queen


	34. Name

_Smile_

* * *

Name.

* * *

"_All clear_," the whisper came over the comlink, and CC-2224 ejected his bunk from the wall. It slid out silently, on well oiled hydraulics, and he peered over the edge, looking down for the rest of his natal squad. Vigil was hanging on to the ladder that ran between their bunks, near the bottom, looking up. He gave another all clear sign before hopping off, and 2224 swung himself out onto the ladder as well, just as 2223's bunk slid out alongside his with a soft hiss. 2221's bunk was already open and empty, at the bottom, as was Vigil's. Hack, of course, was the first one up and out, and his bunk was extended and vacant as well. He was the one who had to get things ready.

2224 grasped the sides of the ladder with his hands and feet, and slid himself down, hopping off just before he made the ground. 2223 was right after him, and they quickly made their way to the small dressing area below their bunks. Hack was already at work; he'd removed a panel from the holoscreen usually used for announcements and was working on the electronics behind it. Vigil was keeping watch, ushering them into the dressing area before turning in towards the gathering area himself. 2221 had already claimed the best spot, just in front of the screen.

"Did you get it?" 2221 hissed at Hack, just as the screen flickered to hazy life. The reception wasn't great, but it was one of the better channels Hack was able to slice into. Blurry lines wavered across the screen periodically, and the color was a bit vague, but otherwise the images were clear and the audio was good, even though they kept it low.

They could get in so much trouble being out of bed in the middle of the night. It was against regs. Growing clones needed to complete their prescribed set of nighttime flash training, and that required a completed sleep cycle with the appropriate proportion of NREM and REM sleep stages.

But the show was just so…different…from anything else they'd ever seen.

"Turn it up," 2221 whispered at Hack, who, as their slicer and the person who got them into the holonet programming, had placed himself in charge of the control panel. Predictably, Hack glanced at Vigil, who shot a furtive, if unnecessary glance towards the commons area beyond their bunks before responding.

"Patrol droid went past five minutes ago. We have another forty-two minutes before it comes around again. As long as no one gets up for the 'fresher, we're clear."

Hack nodded once at 2221 and raised the volume a notch, just as the triumphant opening theme of the program began to roll. The five boys huddled closer, and 2224 jostled with 2223 for a clearer angle, trying to avoid being shoved into 2221.

Then Commando Cody appeared, in all his Mandalorian glory, to a blaze of fanfare. His black and gold armor was backlit brightly by the flames shooting off his jetpack, and he swooped through the starry night sky, the opening credits and names of the actors scrolling over him. The five boys grinned, huddling closer, making whispered noises of excitement.

2224 shoved back at 2223 when 2223 jabbed him with an elbow. There was no time for further arguing, though, as the first scene opened, finding Commando Cody steering his transport through space. The five boys went silent, waiting for the job to come in. The show always started that way; either Commando Cody was already on the case, or he was about to get one. A moment later, his communications display lit up, and the small image of an elegant Lowen woman who often gave Commando Cody his assignments appeared. She was supposed to work for a super-secret spy agency in the Republic, but because Commando Cody was the best, they hired him to solve special problems. Because he was awesome like that. 2224 tried to stifle a grin. Episodes that started out this way were the best. It was like getting orders, but the orders always led to something amazing. This time, there was an Omwati scientist who was allegedly selling her genetic research on the sly to a Hutt syndicate to make biological weapons.

Of course, as soon as they saw the Omwati scientist, they knew it wasn't her. She was too pretty and Commando Cody flirted with her. Commando Cody didn't flirt with bad guys. "It's her assistant!" 2224 whispered resolutely to the others, looking at the skinny little human man. He just looked suspicious, and he kept trying to show off how smart he was, especially in front of the beautiful and genuinely brilliant Dr. Lyni, who was obviously being framed.

Hack agreed. "He's jealous of her work." There was a round of nods of agreement, and scowls every time the evil assistant appeared on screen. 2221 started making farting noises every time the evil assistant started talking, until 2224 smacked him in the head for being annoying.

The big battle scene at the end involved a lot of pyrotechnics, and Commando Cody flew around with his jetpack a lot. ("_When are we starting jetpack maneuvers?_" 2223 whispered. "_Not for another six months_," Vigil whispered back. "_Shhh!_" hushed 2224 and Hack.) This week, the climax was a straight up hand-to-hand fight between Commando Cody and the evil bounty hunter the Hutts hired to help the assistant steal the research. Commando Cody won, of course, but not until after a lot of things around them blew up.

And of course, he rescued Dr. Lyni from all the explosions, and they flew off together to safety. "_Oh, how can I ever thank you?_" she was saying breathily, staring up at him starry eyed. 2223 snickered, and Vigil and 2224 simultaneously whacked him in the head for interrupting the moment.

Commando Cody posed heroically. "_No need, my little bird!_" All five of them took a breath. It was in every episode. This had to be it. All five boys said, in unison with the hero, "_I never lose a fight_!" Then Commander Cody smiled at the camera, and the five boys all grinned back.

As the credits rolled, the two survivors were silhouetted against the sunset, and the closing theme began to play. There was a collective sigh from all five boys as the theme played. Hack turned back to the control panel and switched the holoscreen off before getting to work resetting the channels to the proper Kaminoan ones. Vigil slipped back out towards the common area, taking a look up and down the hall.

2224 lingered, looked at the now-blank screen. It was different from any of the training vids they ever watched. And at the end, the hero always flew off, safe and with adoration and the promise of more adventures to come. And pretty Omwati geneticists.

The sound of 2221 drew his attention away from the screen. 2221 and 2223 were mimicking Dr. Lyni and Commando Cody at the end, with 2221 wheezing, in a falsetto voice, "_Oh how did you get to be so amazing_?"

2223 puffed up his chest and declared, "_I'm genetically perfect, my little bird_!"

They almost collapsed giggling. 2224 glared at them. "Get quiet, both of you, before someone hears."

2221 sighed. "Aw, '24, you're too serious. Relax, we've still got eight minutes before the droid sweeps back."

2223 chuckled but slung an arm around 2224's shoulders, and 2224 shot him a cool look. "Admit it, you're just jealous of Commando Cody's awesomeness in battle."

"And with girls!" 2221 added, still grinning. 2224 rolled his eyes at 2221 and shrugged 2223's arm from around him.

The problem was, he knew, that they were right, in their way. They were of the clone commander line, all five of them. Dedicated to duty, but trained to be independent enough to lead their more ordinarily trained brothers. That independence training, though, allowed them to understand glimpses of real independence. There'd been an episode, three weeks ago, when Commando Cody had turned down a Republic job, because he'd found some people who needed his help on a poor planet that was being harassed by pirates. It was silly. The plots were always silly, over the top and ridiculous, but they always ended the same way. With the intrepid hero flying free and victorious at the end.

And 2224 knew that was why he kept coming back. He suspected Hack, Vigil, 2221 and 2223 were the same.

"So what if I am?" 2224 countered bitterly enough that the grins on 2221 and 2223's faces faded. 2224 sighed. He didn't mean to sap all the fun out of the event. _Commando Cody: Sky Marshal of the Universe_ was on once a week, in the middle of their sleep cycle. Since the day Hack discovered he could slice the holonet, they'd been trying to see what they could find. See what the Kaminoans kept from them. Apparently, it was a lot. 2221 and 2223 were somber, and Vigil, still standing watch just beyond them, was looking worried. 2224 ran a hand through his hair, and summoned a weak smile. "Who doesn't want to be awesome in battle, anyway?"

It garnered a couple of equally thin smiles, but also a quip from Hack as he finished putting the holoscreen back together. "Or awesome with girls?" Hack was grinning, folding his arms over his chest and looking 2224 up and down, considering. "I don't know about you, though. Awesome in battle maybe. But with girls?"

2224 glared at him, while 2221 and 2223 laughed. "Funny," 2224 shot back.

"I try," Hack admitted, with a deliberate air of false modesty. He stepped in closer and thumped 2224 on the back once as he walked by. "Come on, Cody. Back to bunks."

2224 paused, startled, as Hack moved past him. "What did you call me?"

Hack turned back enough to grin at him again, with other smiles starting to spread again across the faces of 2221, 2223 and Vigil just behind him. "You heard me," Hack said. "Come on, Cody. We've only got a minute before the droid comes back. Or do you want to explain to the sergeants why you were wandering around in the middle of the night, gaping like a gooberfish?"

Even with the joke, no one laughed. They all just stood there, smiling at him.

Cody. He let the name settle in his mind for a moment. Cody. There were worse names, he supposed. 2224 tasted the name aloud. "Cody." The flavor was different than "CC-2224". It was different from "Hack" or "Vigil" too. But it wasn't a bad taste. More unique than numbers. A little over the top, like the namesake, but a little heroic, too. Commander Cody. There was a good sound to it, like freedom and victory and sneaking around in the dark with his squad mates.

They were waiting his response.

Cody smiled, and stepped forward.

* * *

According to the Wookieepedia, Cody was named for a 1950's serial character named Commando Cody. I decided to play with that a little….

~Queen


	35. Beach

**Author's Note**: Extreme silliness. AU. _**Very**_ AU. Hooray for Happily Ever After AU's! Also, beware shirtless clones, alcohol and innuendo. Blame Jade-Max.

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Beach.

* * *

The concept of a vacation was still a novel one.

Jedi simply didn't get time off for fun, much less clones. But the last several years had changed a great many things about the state of the galaxy, and this was, Barriss had to admit, one of the changes she rather liked. A sunny beach, warm sand, a clear sky - and half of Torrent and Ghost Company playing a massive game of limmie, topless.

Yes, discovering the Chancellor was a Sith just in the nick of time, along with Ahsoka's former Master declaring himself a married man and soon-to-be father, had changed a great many things around the galaxy.

It took about six years for the whole "vacation days" concept to kick in, but considering they'd all fought a massive, costly war for years on end, followed by clean up and various peacekeeping activities, getting a week or two off sounded pretty fair. She hadn't expected Ahsoka to drag half of the 501st (much less a sizable chunk of the 212th) along with her (if Barriss knew the boys were invited, she'd have suggested it to Gree) but she wasn't particularly saddened - apparently the destination of choice for most the 41st was Zeltros.

Barriss reclined in her lounge chair and watched as the ball went soaring up into the sky, and a dozen men charged across the sand to intercept, while a dozen more did everything possible to get in their way. She was in a simple black bikini, her hair up in a long ponytail. Ahsoka was sprawled out a meter away in a sky blue one-piece, thoroughly engrossed in the game. Barriss had to admit, it was pretty fascinating to watch. She didn't know most of them, considering they were all 501st or 212th, but she'd gotten relatively good at picking some of the more familiar faces out of the crowd. Cody, for example, was the one in the orange shorts and about halfway to getting a severe sunburn, judging by the fact he was red as a sunfruit.

Poor Cody. He'd need a healer soon. She'd have to slather bacta salve all over his back.

Oh, how she suffered for her calling!

A loud whistle from Ahsoka signaled the 501st getting the ball back, and judging by the continued cheering and particularly delighted look on her Togruta friend's face, Rex had the ball. Barriss suppressed a grin. Ahsoka had always been unconventional, and she'd adapted to the variety of reforms still sweeping through the Jedi Order much more easily than she herself had. Considering her former Master was the one to initiate most of them, (claiming his family gave him the strength to resist Sidious' machinations) that did make a certain amount of sense. Of course, Ahsoka wasn't really able to talk to Anakin about certain things ("_Snips, you can come to me about anything – but I really don't want to know what you do with boys. Just don't get into trouble. Well, at least not the kind of trouble where I'd have to run someone though with a lightsaber. Actually, just stay away from boys until you're forty. What? Don't look at me like that. Leia's going to have the same rule_.") and over the years, Barriss ended up hearing most of Ahsoka's romantic troubles ("_Ahsoka, I know you like him, but dragging you off to spend time with Death Watch is not a very good date_."). She seemed to have the oddest quirk towards men with three letter names that ended in "x".

For the last several months, however, Ahsoka seemed to be focusing on the more muscular, soldierly of the two. Considering Rex would literally prefer to be shot than take her to visit with a bunch of terrorists for the weekend, Barriss was quietly supportive of this.

She was fairly sure Ahsoka was aware she was settling on Rex, but she'd yet to admit it. Her Togruta friend was watching the boloball game with a bit more interest than a woman who just liked limmie a lot. Considering the nice, exotic atmosphere and several more days off that lay ahead, it was as good a time as any to give Ahsoka a final nudge – or at least get her to finally fess up to her decision.

Barriss sighed and leaned back, reaching out for her water bottle, which proved to be empty. There was a cabana with a wet bar not too far away, and a Twi'lek waiter in board shorts was making his way across the beach towards the waterline with a tray full of fruity looking drinks. She and Ahsoka weren't the only women who'd apparently decided to settle in to watch the game, and there were consistent squeals rising above the sound of surf and male shouting. Fruity drinks, though, sounded perfectly refreshing, considering the tropical climate.

"I'm going to get something to drink," Barriss said, standing. "Want anything?"

Ahsoka looked at her for a moment thoughtfully, spied the Twi'lek waiter and the drinks, and nodded. "Something sweet and cold. Thanks, Barriss."

Barriss waved quickly and headed towards the cabana, feet squelching in the sand. The few tables under the shade of the roof were full, and there were several people milling around drinking and chattering. Most were women of various humanoid species, and all were watching the game. There was a menu hanging over the bar, and a female Twi'lek tending it. "What can I getcha?" she grinned, pausing from cleaning glasses.

Barriss hummed for a moment, reading the menu, then said, "I'll have an Astral Gateway, and my friend will have…." she paused, then quirked a brow at the holographic image of one of the drinks framing the list, then laughed. "One of those." She pointed at the hologram, which was of a colorful, primarily reddish drink. The bartender grinned and went to work, and a moment later, Barriss had two drinks in hand, one in shades of scarlet and orange, one blue with a ring of yellow at the top. "How much?"

The Twi'lek laughed and waved the question off. "On the house, sweetie! We've been booming ever since you brought that horde out here!" She folded her arms and leaned against the bar, nodding towards the game, the clones, and their general state of sweaty, buff shirtlessness. "Can you bring them out here tomorrow too? Hubby and I are making a mint today."

Barriss smiled, flushing, and headed out of the cabana with a small bow, replying over her shoulder, "I can suggest it. Thank you for the drinks."

"Enjoy, hon!"

Another round of cheers went up just as she reached her chair again, and Ahsoka was letting out a loud whistle; someone had scored this time, though it was hard to see where the goals were, since they seemed to consist of a couple larger pieces of grey driftwood and a pile of white, powdery sand.

Barriss handed the reddish drink to Ahsoka while taking a sip of the Astral Gateway. She sighed. Cool, with plenty of ice, tart from the limon juice and sweet from the blue liqueur with something slightly fizzy mixed in. Perfectly refreshing in the heat.

"What is this?" Ahsoka asked, peering at her drink curiously. "Looks good."

Barriss bit her lip, then hid a smile behind the rim of her glass as she sat back down. "What do you think is in it?"

Her voice was wry, and Ahsoka gave her an arched white eyebrow and a dry look, clearly suspecting there was some sort of joke to be had about whatever Barriss had provided her. Then she took a sip and considered it for a long moment, cheeks puffing a bit as she swished it in her mouth. "Tart and orangey red - sunfruit?" she guessed, and Barriss nodded for her to continue. Ahsoka gave her a suspicious look, then took another drink. "Tangy, a little dry – and a little sweet." She sniffed it. "Smells good. Sihan peach, and…hm. Can't smell the actual alcohol, but it packs a punch, whatever it is. Has a bite. Kashyyyk vodka?"

It was hard not to start giggling, and Barriss finally caved in, smothering a laugh with a hand as she tried not to spill her Gateway. Ahsoka was watching her expectantly, white brows lifted and dark lips twisted in amusement as she waited to find out what the joke was. Barriss giggled one last time, then braced herself. She said, with a very sly smile, "It's called a Rex on the Beach."

Ahsoka blinked once, looked down into her drink as though that would confirm Barriss' statement. Apparently it did, because Ahsoka promptly began laughing, "It is not!"

Barriss laughed again, took another cool sip of her own drink, and admitted, "No, but almost. I only changed one letter. It's called a Sex on the Beach." She let her eyes get a little large and feigned an innocent look while glancing towards the herd of sweaty, athletic men charging around the beach after a ball. Though there was no sex, there was certainly a lot of sexy going on at the beach. Considering the amount of attention the boys were getting, though, that might change by nightfall.

"Well," Ahsoka sighed dramatically, and Barriss returned her attention to her friend, who was doing an impressive fake-innocent look of her own. "One letter was enough of a change."

Barriss tilted her head to the side in query, and Ahsoka's face melted into a wicked grin for a moment, before she took a slow sip of her drink and said, sweetly, "Rex doesn't taste anything at all like this."

It took several seconds for the entirety of Ahsoka's implication to sink in, and when it did, Barriss flushed a deep viridian and burst into laughter, trying not to spill her drink as she resisted the urge to double over with giggles.

Apparently Ahsoka's long, Rex-ward glances denoted anticipation for more, rather than anticipation for anything at all. No nudging necessary.

* * *

A gale of feminine laughter (in voices more familiar than the giggles of some of the other spectators) caught Cody's attention on the field as he took a moment to catch his breath. Reaching out, he tapped Rex on the arm and nodded towards the pair of swimsuit-clad Jedi (and _damn_ but that was a lot of green skin usually covered up). Knight Offee, at least, met his eyes, while Knight Tano seemed more preoccupied with smiling in Rex's direction.

"You ever get the feeling they're laughing at us?"

Rex tilted his head in the direction of the women, and gave a small wave, which Ahsoka promptly returned. He grinned. "All the time."

* * *

Decided to go ahead and post this, since it's my birthday today. _Smile_ is now back on its regularly scheduled hiatus!

Sex on the Beach is a real drink, as I'm sure most of you are aware of. It consists of vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry juice, and orange juice. Astral Gateway is apparently also a real drink, which I discovered while looking for fun, GFFA-sounding drinks online. It consists of vodka, blue curacao liqueur, lemon juice, ginger ale, and ice.

~Queen


	36. Settle

**Author's Note**: Here we go again. This one is a strong T for sexual themes. There is nothing explicit or "on screen", but there's a **LOT** of references and innuendo. Welcome back to Ovid Outpost, everybody! This takes place about a month before "Relationships 1" where we first met Jir and Nadeh. However, despite sitting down to write another Jir/Nadeh story, Kura decided to hijack my brain and insist upon something about her and Maki. So, this comes first….

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Settle.

* * *

"I've come to have sex with you."

Kura said it with perfect calm and a small, sultry smile. She was good at those. Just the right curve of the lip, the right tilt of the head, the right angle of a hip, the right lift of an eyebrow – and speaking of eyebrows, Maki's were shooting up to his hairline.

The men here were so amusing. Except for when they were annoying. Seriously, an entire army where most of the men hadn't spoken to a woman for more than five minutes? Someone needed to make a romantic comedy holo about it – an entire army of buff, lonely men all needing lovers. Or maybe a porno. Either would likely be hilarious.

Anyway, Maki was one of the more amusing ones, and there was no way in hell she was going to be stationed here for stars knew how long without getting laid. It was nice to essentially have her pick of the entire outpost's compliment (excepting that one guy who kept following Nadeh around like a lost mooka puppy). Problem was, all jokes aside, being stationed with about a hundred lonely men who'd never talked to a woman before wasn't entirely the stuff of rom-coms and porn. Most of them had no idea how to actually form coherent sentences around her. It was like flipping a switch – soldier on (coherent sentences related to work and duty) and soldier off (idiocy, gawping, babbling, awkwardness, and she swore there was one idiot trying not to drool).

The good Captain, though, was blinking at her, as though her words weren't quite registering. Kura upped the size of her smile, then hefted the bottle of White Ambrosia in her hand, waggling it back and forth so that the citrine liquid sloshed around invitingly within. It'd taken nearly four weeks for the stuff to get here, from Zeltros. No alcohol anywhere on base. Ridiculous. Of course the outpost didn't have proper wine glasses either, so she'd had to make do with pilfering a couple of the mugs available in the mess. She resisted a sigh. The military obviously didn't understand the important things in life.

"Are you going to leave me standing in the hallway or is this a rejection?"

Maki blinked one more time, and his eyebrows lowered a fraction, only to rearrange themselves into an expression of deep amusement. He grinned and stepped aside, and she slipped through the doorway and into his quarters. The door swished to a shut behind them.

His room was neat. That was typical. Pretty much everything here was neat. His bunk was neat (grey banthawool blanket, standard issue), there a locker built into one white wall (closed), a durasteel desk with a computer console (on and displaying what appeared to be the staff rotation for the week). The desk was as good a place as any. She set the mugs and the liquor down and twisted off the top. A sharp tang of sweet, mulled alcohol hit the air, and she smiled down at the cool liquid for a moment before pouring.

"Mind if I ask what I did to earn the honor?" Maki asked, and she lifted her mug to her lips and took a long pull, rolling it around her mouth. Just right. Cool, sweet with a bit of a tang, and smooth as Lashaa silk. The flavor lingered, prickling her tongue pleasantly. She turned just a bit, looking over her shoulder. Maki was standing in what would have been parade rest, if his arms weren't folded over his chest. This late in the evening he was, fortunately, not in uniform (though the uniform was rather nice when on, admittedly). The grey soft clothes he was wearing were just tight enough to highlight the play of muscles on his arms – she'd always liked good arms on a man. They connected to hands, and hands – well, hands could do so many things.

He was, of course, looking at her – just the right way. She smiled and took another sip before curling her hands around the mug. "Because you look at my face."

His look of wry amusement turned puzzled, brows puckering as he frowned. He hadn't expected that; she could feel his confusion filling the back of her mind like a whisper, along with the slow, well controlled sense of attraction he usually exhibited. Nearly all the men in the outpost felt like that, but Maki didn't act on it. Oh, he didn't _always_ look at her face (and really, after awhile she'd decided she didn't particularly want him to) but when he talked to her, he looked her in the eyes, and kept himself in that "soldier on" mode that kept him coherent. He talked to her like she was a fellow sentient being, not a Zeltron pinup girl in a doctor's uniform that had suddenly come to life. She'd have thought he was disinterested if it weren't for her empathic abilities – he was quite good at keeping himself under control, but he distinctly got several degrees warmer when he talked to her. He had this delightful juxtaposition of control and the urge to just grab her. It was entertaining.

Kura leaned back a bit on the desktop, not quite sitting on it, but taking advantage of its presence to stretch out her legs a bit – she'd dressed for the occasion as much as she could, in a form fitting (if modest length) pencil skirt and heels. As planned, Maki's eyes strayed down to her legs. He seemed to regard them thoughtfully for a long moment, then let his gaze meander slowly back up to her face.

"You have a nice face to look at," he said at length, his voice low and deep, and she smiled into her mug as she took another drink. She could feel his attraction curling warmly across her skin, his sense of puzzlement exchanging place with that burgeoning heatedness and sense of restraint rising to balance it. She almost laughed, but that wouldn't have been very nice, not in this case. Maybe in a week or two, when she'd gotten him broken in a bit, he'd realize he already had permission. It was sweet, though. He was human, after all, and didn't have her – _advantage_ – in reading others. Humans needed to be blunt about consent.

"Drink?" she asked, setting her mug aside momentarily to pour him half a mug, and extend it. He accepted it, almost warily, a sudden flare of his suspicion needling her skin before it was quickly soothed. It was a fair enough suspicion. He probably didn't drink much, if at all. Shameful, what these men weren't allowed. Really, it was saddening how little they were allowed to live. Utterly unnatural. "It might be a bit strong for a human. Sip it."

He did as she said, but his face puckered, turned red, then purple, and he swallowed a bare second before gasping. Kura set her drink aside and touched his shoulder as he started to cough, liquor sloshing out of his cup as he tried not to double over. "What _is_ that? Paint remover?"

She chuckled and took the drink from him before any more ended up on his nice, neat floor. "Sorry. This is one of the milder brews –"

"_Mild_!"

"From Zeltros. I thought it'd be suitable for sharing, but apparently not."

Maki wheezed at her disbelievingly a few times, and she gave him a small smile before reaching out and taking his face in her hands. His eyes widened. He had nice eyes, too. Brown. Kind of a nutty color, it was pleasant. This close she could see the fringe of his eyelashes. She ran her thumbs over his cheekbones (he had just enough stubble to be prickly), and he twitched, the echo of desire in him becoming a louder thrum that reverberated down through her palms and up her arms until it raced down her spine. Zeltrons weren't exclusive touch empaths, but physical contact heightened the empathic sense to exquisitely delicious levels. Her skin felt thin where it touched his, transparent as she soaked in the slow stoking of warmth in his belly through her palms and let it flow through her.

His hands flicked towards her before slowing, hovering in the small gap of space between them, and she smiled, restraining the flow of her pheromones. This wouldn't be much fun if he was half-coerced and not ready. A little longer, until he felt more comfortable. Soon.

Her friends on Zeltros thought her kink for human men rather bizarre. Couldn't she have picked a more exotic species, at least? Falleen pheromones mixed splendidly with Zeltron pheromones (the results being _quite_ spectacular), and wouldn't that be more exciting than some boring human? They were _everywhere_ and so…so…quaint. And _uptight_.

That was all part of the appeal, she supposed. Not the ubiquity of humans, but all the complicated rules they had around gender roles and sex and everything in between. She'd rather enjoyed her time at medical school on Coruscant; the Coruscanti were so different, not in terms of shape or race, but in terms of culture. They were horrendously backwards, sometimes, particularly in regards to sex (she'd had to teach a couple gossipy men exactly what it meant to call a Zeltron woman a slut - thank goodness for laser scalpels!) but there were moments when she found men like Maki who brought out some strange urge in her to simply hold them. Get them to relax. Smile. Feel sexy. And enjoy themselves, without worrying about some self-righteous asshole telling them what they should or shouldn't be doing with their body and why.

Maki had recovered himself a bit from his encounter with the White Ambrosia, and was taking the time to look at her – all of her. His eyes roamed, slowly, down from her face to her neck, to her breasts, then down to her waist and back up again. He looked at her curiously. "You're serious about this."

"You think I turned up on your doorstep at midnight with fancy Zeltron liquor to tease you?"

He blinked once, and that rakish grin she was beginning to like so much was back. His eyes (yes, definitely a nice nut brown) didn't quite lose their uncertainty – not entirely – but the wry amusement was back. "That would be some mean teasing."

Kura chuckled a bit, matching his grin with her own. "You're doing a fine job being a tease right now, Maki."

There was a ring of confusion in what was otherwise an equally flirtatious response. "And how am I being a tease?"

She laughed a bit, angling herself closer to him. He was doing his best to keep up, and managing quite well, but he genuinely didn't know what she was talking about. She kept the game going a bit longer, trying to pout a bit, but her lips kept twisting up into a smile as she ran her thumbs over his cheeks again. "You're mean, Maki. We're this close and you're not even touching me?"

He blinked again – and his grin spread. His hands, still hovering halfway between them, landed on her hips, slid up her sides to her waist, and there was an unfurling of something from him, a sigh that was more mental than physical. Then his arms were around her, pulling her flush against him, and Kura let herself exhale, long and low as he buried his face into her neck and breathed her in, and his hands wandered across her back, and one reached up into her hair and he drew his fingers through her long lavender tresses. Kura closed her eyes and memorized the feel of him against her – broad chest, big muscles, strong arms, warm and getting warmer, especially the lower he went. She pressed her hips against his and his breath hitched at the contact.

Tomorrow, of course, she'd have to drag his ass (hmm, pleasantly – but not unexpectedly – tight) down to the medical bay to make sure he was set with the standard contra-vac hypo requirements (Perhaps humans were surpassed in their backwardness by Kaminoans? No contraceptives or sexually related vaccinations? What neutered twit was heading their medical department? Did they not consider these men to be human enough to have sex?). Fortunately, she was entirely covered, and that would do for one evening. Tomorrow. Tomorrow there would be time for practicalities. Tonight….

"Maki?" Her toes curled as he found a very interesting spot on her neck and began experimenting.

"Hm?"

"Have you ever heard of the Tauntaun Topper?"

He paused in his explorations, thinking. He seemed vaguely embarrassed suddenly, his eyes slanting away from her as his lips pursed into a frown and he caressed her back with his hands. "I don't have much experience with this, Kura."

Of course he didn't. Damn Kaminoans. Damn military. Damn whoever thought using men as machines was a good idea. She pressed her lips closer to his ear, breathing gently as she brushed her lips against his skin. She slipped her hands just under the hem of his shirt, placing them at the small of his back and feeling all the want and uncertainty of him concentrated against her palms. She could fix both of those things, tonight, at least for awhile. She smiled into his neck and, ever so slowly, finally let her fingers trail thin lines of pheromones across his skin. "That's the good thing about experience. You can get it with lots of practice."

There was a pause, then a ripple of amusement up through her hands that made her grin. "Lots?"

"Mmm. I recommend we begin training immediately. Think you're fit enough?"

He snorted out a laugh, then brought his lips close to her ear, much as hers were close to his. "You going to give me a checkup, Doctor?"

Oh, was he going to be a fast learner.

"If you like," she murmured, and caught his lips with hers, and smiled.

* * *

Kura didn't have a real plan when she'd initiated a relationship with Maki. Either of them could be moved at any given time to another base or outpost, even though the odds were relatively low. If there was a plan, it mainly revolved around having some fun during the time they did have, then moving on, as usual. She certainly didn't have any plans on settling down with the man, entertaining as the relationship ended up being.

Weirdly, though, days turned into weeks, then into months, and despite some scandalized reminders of what she was missing from her friends back on Zeltros ("_An entire outpost of lonely men and you're sticking with _one_? What have you done, turned human?"_) she felt oddly content with the situation ("_You have _no idea_ what kind of stamina this guy has – seriously, come visit, there's plenty of others just like him to go around."_) and figured there wasn't any harm in doing what (and who) she damn well pleased, one man or several ("…_Really? …How many men are we talking about, here?"_). Besides, at this point, it'd do nothing but hurt him if she took other lovers on base. Possessiveness wasn't a virtue, but she doubted Maki – or any of the men – would see it in the same context. Taking a few of the men into her bed would just show that one of them was insufficient – they were just clones, after all.

Maki's chest was snugly pressed against her back, and his head was just close enough to hers that she could feel his breath sliding across the skin of her neck. One of his arms was flung over her waist, and he'd managed to kick half the covers off him (again). There was a steady stream of drowsy contentedness pressing against her back from where his skin met hers.

It wasn't so bad. There was also a nice regularity to it – no going out hunting in cantinas, no wondering if she'd have someone come home with her at night (though that was a rare problem indeed). He was funny, a horrible flirt, and smart. And he gave a mean massage when she was tired. She sighed and settled back into him, and he made a muffled noise and tightened his grip on her.

She'd just have to settle for having mind-blowing sex with one man. Oh well.

* * *

Thanks to laloga for the help, especially with naming the liquor! For anyone wondering, Zeltrons have some limited empathic abilities – they're not Jedi, but they can sense the emotions of others to a degree.

Aaaaaand...yes! _Smile_ is back. For awhile. I currently have ten ficlets lined up for you all. Schedule is biweekly, so expect updates every other week for a few months, at least.

Enjoy!  
~Queen


	37. Taste

_**Author's Note**_: We're still visiting Ovid Outpost so beware innuendo. This is for the ladies at TCWWU – you know who you are. Sorry, but I just couldn't title it 'Countertop'.

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Taste.

* * *

Nadeh's hands were balled into fists, gripping the front of his shirt and holding him down at lip-level. Said lips were smushed gloriously into his, and as Jir's hands found the small of her back and pressed her closer to him, she tugged him (and his lips) down further towards her (and her lips).

Then, abruptly, the kiss ended, and his lips were no longer smushed with her lips, which was allowing her to twist them to the side in a smirk, which was accompanied by an arched brow and a tilt of the head. "_Now_ do you believe me, Jir?"

Jir blinked. Then he blinked again. Nadeh's brow arched a little bit higher, and the smirk became more pronounced as she waited for a response about something he'd entirely forgotten about all of a sudden. Short-term memory loss was, he'd discovered, an unfortunate side effect of making out with Nadeh (as were the heart palpitations and the occasional extra excitement between his legs). Fortunately the memory loss remained short term, and he flushed as he remembered.

"But I didn't get you anything," he said, still feeling a little guilty. Nadeh didn't give him random make out sessions in quasi-public locations if she was mad, but he was pretty sure he'd read somewhere (on the holonet, even if it wasn't always right) that you were supposed to do something special for your girlfriend on her life day.

Nadeh's smirk softened into a smile, and she tugged him down again to kiss him on the cheek. "You're sweet, you know that?" (He did. He was also strange and funny and frequently weird, but apparently he managed a consistent sense of sweetness.) She released the front of his shirt and patted him once on the chest. "But did you even know it was my life day today, Jir?"

He scratched the back of his head. They'd been dating three whole months now. The holonet (which was not always right) said he was supposed to learn everything he could about her so that they had "a deep mutual understanding and appreciation for each other" (according to _SentientSingles . holo_). Nadeh frequently had very different ideas about what he should and shouldn't do than the holonet though, so in cases like these, he'd figured out it was best to just ask. "Shouldn't I have?"

Nadeh's head tilted to the other side, and she shook her head. "Jir, we haven't talked about it before. Besides, I have no idea when _your_ life day is."

She was grinning up at him, with that particular look in her eyes she got when she was flirting with him or trying to cheer him up with a joke. He hung his head. He knew when her life day was now, but he couldn't tell her when his was. "I don't know, either."

Her brows furrowed and her grin faded for a long moment. When it returned, it was small, and her hands came up and cupped his face, and pulled it down towards hers, and he got another kiss, this time on the forehead. "Well, then today's your lucky day. You're helping me make my life day cake. Iridonian style. None of that Coruscanti frosted stuff."

So _that_ was why she'd dragged him into the mess hall kitchen. He liked cake, even if the mess hall cake was kind of dry. They'd both had the late shift, and it was the small hours of the morning for everyone else; even the kitchen droids were still recharging in their outlets.

There was an array of items set out on one of the countertops near the back of the kitchen, and Jir found himself tugged towards it by a hand. "It took two months for all this to get here," Nadeh explained, waving a hand across the display. The bowls were filled with what looked like good machine oil (some golden brown liquid), rusted bolts (nuts?) and a couple with of some sort of powdery white stuff that looked suspiciously like the detergent he usually used to scrub scorch off starfighters.

Nadeh was picking up the smallest of the bowls, filled with what looked like little brown pellets of dehydrated nutrients. She held it up to her nose, closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the pellets as though it were the best smelling thing ever. Then she tilted her head towards him with that look on her face – the sly one where she was up to something. "Karyophyllon," she said, and picked up one pellet very delicately, still with the wicked look in her eyes, and held it up to his lips. From here, he could smell it too; spicy, with a rich, earthy aroma, like the glittering rock formations near the outpost, when they would take morning walks together. "Open," she urged, and he gave her a skeptical look – and opened his mouth, letting her pop the pellet in. Her fingers lingered on his lips while the karyophyllon literally melted on his tongue, dissolving into powder. It tasted like it smelled, rich and heady, with a strangely pleasing bit of burn that made his eyes widen. It was a shocking change from the tasteless food he was used to eating here at the outpost; the droids cooked everything into a bland (nutrient rich!) mush.

Nadeh popped one into her mouth too, chuckling up at him, then set the little bowl aside. "Karyophyllon," she repeated, tapping the top of the mound of pellets, then tapped the rims of each of the other bowls in turn, pointing them out. "Flour. Sugar. Sweet oil. Wuli nuts. The nuna eggs and blue milk are in the conservator."

There were several knives of various sizes stuck to the wall behind the counter on a magnetic strip, and Nadeh reached over and pulled one off, inspected it for a moment, then nodded. "The wuli nuts need to be chopped up. Think you can handle it?" she asked, offering him the handle of the knife.

Well, he'd learned how to wield vibroknives on Kamino, this couldn't be too different. Jir took the knife and stared at it while Nadeh bent down and pulled something rectangular and flat out from under the counter. "Cutting board." She set it down on top of the polished durasteel countertop with a thud. "The nuts need to be chopped finely." She took the bowl of nuts and upturned it on the cutting board, then mimed rocking the knife across the mound. "Cut them like this. It's not a vibroknife, Jir. You don't stab nuts or slash at them. Give it a try. _Slowly_."

Jir mimicked Nadeh's motions, holding the handle firm but loose (just like Kamino) but with one hand lightly over the blunt edge of the blade (definitely not like Kamino) and pressed down. The nuts made a dull crinkling sound as he cut through a few of them, and he looked at Nadeh for confirmation that this was the correct procedure. She grinned and nodded, and he pressed down again, cutting through another handful of wuli nuts, then again and again until Nadeh turned away and started mixing the other items into a bigger bowl, stirring them together while he chopped.

It was steady work, and quiet except for the sounds of chopping, mixing, and the occasional noise of a bowl hitting the top of the counter or the conservator door opening and closing as Nadeh got something out of it. Jir smiled as he slowly reduced the pile of caf-colored nuts to a heap of soft, almost caramel colored fluff. So this was how things got turned into food. Usually he only saw it freeze-dried, as (nutrient rich!) mush, or dehydrated into cubes for easy storage on a utility belt. He was actually making food. With Nadeh. He snuck a look at her, pouring blue milk into the bowl, then picking up a spoon and stirring it with an expert flick of the wrist. Her hair was blonde again, currently with red streaks. It'd been blonde for an entire month now (albeit with various colored streaks and patterns in it) and he had a sneaking suspicion it was because he'd mentioned he liked it blonde best (though she was cute with pink, green, and blue hair too). There was a flour smudge on her face, across her right cheek, and he reached out and rubbed at it with his thumb. The gesture earned him a fresh grin, then a quick kiss on his fingertips as he started to withdraw his hand.

Three months ago, he had no idea how many ways (or places) two people could kiss each other. Sometimes it was secretive, like when they were on duty and inside a ship working on its engines, and sometimes it was all heated, like when they were in bed together, and sometimes it was like now, when the kiss was brief and small but made his gut squirm because it was just such a natural, comfortable way of touching her. And he was allowed to do it whenever he wanted. Maybe she'd be up for some tactical intimacy later…could you have tactical intimacy with cake? He liked Nadeh, he liked tactical intimacy, he liked cake…all three at once…..

"You okay, Jir?" Nadeh asked, and he realized he'd stopped chopping the nuts and was now chopping the countertop. Nadeh simply lifted a brow and gave him a wry, knowing look before she set down her bowl and spoon and placed a hand on his - the one still holding the knife – and eased the blade out of his hand. "I think that's enough chopping for now."

The wuli nuts were now mostly just a mound of fluff, but there were still a few bits and pieces that were large enough to pinch between fingers. Nadeh gave him a taste of the karyophyllon – he'd repeat the gesture. Picking up one of the larger chunks, he lifted it up to her mouth, offering it. Nadeh quirked a brow, smirked, set aside the knife, and opened her mouth for him to pop the piece in. He mimicked her earlier action, letting his fingers rest on her pink lips until she was done chewing, and she gave him a quick kiss to his fingertips when she was done.

Oh, definitely tactical intimacy tonight. He grinned. Nadeh smiled coyly.

"Think you can scrape the nuts into the batter?" Nadeh asked, turning again towards the countertop and tilting the bowl towards him. "Pick up the cutting board. Use the knife if you want, but push the nuts into the batter. Leave just a little out, we'll put them on top for garnish."

Since the nut-fluff wanted to go everywhere except the bowl when he tilted the board, Jir picked up the knife and used the edge to scrape the fluff into the bowl. Nadeh gave the batter a few more stirs, tucking the nuts in, then pulled a rectangular pan across the counter and poured the batter into it, scraping the edges of the bowl with a spoon.

She held the spoon in one hand, and the other was cupped a couple inches below it, apparently to catch any batter-dripping. "Want a taste?" she asked, and Jir leaned forward, opening his mouth for her to slip the spoon in.

The taste of the karyophyllon was still there, heady and aromatic, but now there were other tastes, of milk and sugar, of something he thought might be cinnamon; there were a few nubs of nut-fluff clinging to the spoon, and they had an ever so mild bitter tang that contrasted with the sweetness of the batter. Jir closed his eyes as Nadeh slipped the spoon back out of his mouth and set it aside in the bowl. "Good?" she asked sweetly, and Jir grinned down at her when he opened his eyes again.

"Very."

She laughed. "I thought you'd like it."

Maybe this would be a good time to start kissing her? No – she was already moving for the cake pan and then towards one of the ovens, and he did want baked cake even if the batter was tasty. A moment of programming later, she slid open the oven door and slipped the cake pan inside.

Nadeh then turned, not towards him, but again towards the sink, and started filling a measuring cup with water. "Could you get me a pot, Jir?" she asked as she moved back towards the counter, set the cup of water down, and reached for the bowl of sugar and what looked like good machine oil.

There was a line of pots stacked on another counter nearby, and Jir started rifling through the different sizes, finally settling on the largest one (since it could fit anything). "A small one!" Nadeh called over her shoulder just as he picked it up, and he traded it for the smallest one.

"This okay?" Jir asked as he offered it to her, and she nodded once.

"Thanks. That's perfect. Last thing we need to do is make the syrup. It gets poured over the top of the cake at the end to keep it moist." She poured the cup of water into the little pot, then measured out a cup of sugar, then used a spoon to scrape the machine oil looking stuff into the pot as well. Whatever it was, it wasn't actually machine oil – it poured slow and gloppy instead of smooth.

"What is it?"

Nadeh blinked once, then looked up at him in mild surprise. "Honey." Jir frowned. It was a type of food, clearly, but otherwise he didn't know about it. It wasn't something they usually served in the mess. Nadeh gave him a small smile and a nudge with her hip as she scraped a little bit of the extra onto the spoon. "There's an insect on Iridonia called a meli-bee. They make honey – _meli_ – in hives they build inside trees and burrows. It's sweet. You'll like it."

Jir half expected her to feed him the extra honey, but she seemed to think otherwise, and instead set the bowl aside with a small grin, and instead picked up the pot and whisked herself towards the nearest stove, setting the pot with the honey, sugar and water onto a burner with a low flame. She had a small smirk on her face as she headed back to the counter, and she seemed to be resisting the urge to giggle.

That either meant something very bad was about to happen, or very good. Jir hoped it was good.

Nadeh placed her hands on the counter, then hopped up onto it, twisting herself around mid-leap so that she was sitting on top of it, her legs dangling. She picked up the bowl with the remnant of honey left in it, smiled at him, and waved a hand at him, urging him closer.

Was this some sort of new tactical intimacy opening sequence? There were so many, it was hard to memorize them all….

"I haven't had honey in ages," Nadeh sighed, fiddling with the spoon for a moment. "They don't let the droids cook anything good. We'll share, okay?"

That seemed fair, and honestly, it was her life day, she could have all of it if she wanted. Jir nodded, smiled and stood close to her, letting her knees rest up against his abdomen as he leaned forward, placing his hands on the counter on either side of her thighs. There was probably just enough of the honey for each of them to have a taste.

Jir didn't know if she was going to give him his share first, or take a mouthful for herself first, but he didn't expect her to clamp her mouth around the whole spoon and smile at him with the handle still sticking out of her mouth. When she pulled it out, it was completely free of any honey, and Nadeh had a wicked grin on her lips.

Before he could figure out what else was happening, Nadeh's hands were again grasping the front of his shirt and pulling him forward, and then her lips were slanting across his, and her tongue (oh, _there_ was the honey!) was slipping across his (honey tasted like Nadeh…or did Nadeh taste like honey?) and Jir had about two seconds to register that honey was sweet and had a flowery, almost citrusy taste, before the heart palpitations and short-term memory loss began again, and he wrapped his arms around Nadeh's waist at about the same time one of her legs hooked around his, and then he couldn't remember very much anymore.

* * *

Sometime later, Jir discovered Iridonian honey cake was good. Iridonian honey cake with Nadeh was better. Iridonian honey cake with Nadeh _and_ tactical intimacy was, however, definitely the best.

* * *

"Karyophyllon" is an Old Greek word meaning "cloves". Greek is standing in for Zabraki here. I don't recommend eating real-world cloves straight up, though (too strong)! The type of cake Nadeh is making is a Greek honey-walnut cake called karithopita and quite tasty. Also, not a birthday cake. But I wanted to write something different than the usual Western sugar-and-frosting birthday cake. Also – with honey. Meli is Greek for honey, as well.

Hope you enjoyed.

~Queen


	38. Unbirthday

**_Author's Note_**: Still at Ovid Outpost. Beware the innuendo!

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Unbirthday.

* * *

Unbelievable!

Nadeh's hand slammed open the transparasteel door leading into Kura's office in the back of the medbay, and she stomped inside to see the good doctor sitting at her desk and looking up at her with an expression of mild curiosity on her face.

"Can I assume Maki doesn't know when his birthday is, either?" Nadeh thundered as the door swung shut behind her and Kura leaned back in her chair with a cup in her hand. "And are you _drinking_?"

Kura shrugged and knocked back whatever paint-thinner it was she was drinking today in a single shot. "I get off shift in five minutes. I'm celebrating the end of the workday." She made a vague wave towards a bottle of amber colored liquor sitting on the other end of her desk, atop of a pile of datapads and flimsiplast before leaning further back in her chair and propping her heeled feet up on the edge of the desk. "I take it you had some sort of discussion with Jir yesterday?"

Nadeh rolled her eyes. She liked Kura, and it was great having a (female) friend on-base, but sometimes Kura was such a _Zeltron_. Celebrating the end of the workday with liquor that would knock half the men in the outpost on their asses in a single gulp? She pressed a palm to her forehead and breathed in once, reminding herself that it was a quiet day, there were no commanders or Jedi or medical emergencies hanging around, and Gheeaych was in the other room in case Kura did manage to drink half the bottle in the next five minutes and make herself tipsy (which was entirely possible based on the impressive rate in which Kura could guzzle alcohol).

"He doesn't know when his birthday is. I assume this is the same for all of them?"

Kura sighed and set aside her (now empty) mug of liquor. "Nadeh. I know it's not pretty, but we're sleeping with a couple of mass produced men. Kamino probably cranks out at least a few hundred of them a day, and they're given numbers when they're born. They either pick names for themselves or give each other names. You really think the Kaminoans gave them birthday parties when they were little?"

Of course not, that was stupid, but it wasn't _right_. Nadeh grunted, dropped into one of the chairs across from Kura, and folded her arms across her chest. "No. But I think we should." One of Kura's perfectly plucked lavender eyebrows rose thoughtfully, and Nadeh hoped she wasn't about to go all Zeltron at the idea of a party. Nadeh wasn't sure Jir could handle Kura's idea of a party. He started hyperventilating halfway through the whole "eat cake (and leftover honey) and have sex at the same time" thing, even if it was his idea in the first place. It was cute, but really, he had to take certain things slow or his brain overheated.

"Just a normal lifeday party, Kura. Something like what you'd see in the Core. Nothing fancy, because I don't think we can manage fancy. A big colorful cake with frosting and "Happy Lifeday" on it, some balloons, maybe some fizz drinks and candy or something."

Kura laughed, "They're not turning ten!" and then sobered abruptly as she realized what she just said. Kura rubbed her fingers across her eyes and sighed. "Then again. Damn." She shook her head and let her hand fall back into her lap. "Do you have a plan for all this yet or are you in here to vent more than strategize?"

Well, both, but she did have a plan. Sort of. "I'll get Beefour to program himself with a decent cake recipe, you get Maki to agree to scheduling no one in the mess hall for an evening in about three or four weeks. We both chip in what we've got to afford non-standard GAR ingredients for Beefour, and…" Nadeh trailed off and frowned, leaning forward to prop an elbow on the edge of Kura's desk. This was the part she disliked a bit.

"And?" Kura prompted, pouring herself another mug of paint-thinner.

Opti Lunn was a complete space-head. He was, however, friends with Jir, and would likely be willing to pick up some of the more random items they needed and couldn't easily order in. Balloons. Fizzy drinks. Candy. He had a ship and free reign of the sector. He'd probably even be willing to chip in a bit. The problem was, he was a doddering idiot half the time and the fact he would be going shopping for her made her nervous. She was half afraid to consider what the old Mando might come back with. If he brought the boys a stripper from Nar Shaddaa she'd deck him again. He reminisced about the weirdest things and occasionally seemed to forget she had a temper and might not appreciate being compared to some whore he knew when he was just starting out (even though he seemed to mean it as a compliment in some bizarre way).

"I'll ask Lunn to be errand-boy."

Kura's eyebrows both shot up, and she snorted, then grinned. "You _are_ serious about this."

Of course she was. It was about Jir. He was an idiot, but he was _her_ idiot, and he was about the nicest, sweetest, most unbelievably good-hearted man she'd ever met. It also helped that when he wasn't hyperventilating, he was damn good in bed and a hopeless snuggler.

The sound of Kura's light laugh brought her out of her thoughts, and the Zeltron leaned back in her chair with her mug of liquor with a knowing smile. "You have it something awful, don't you?"

Nadeh sighed. Maybe she did.

* * *

"I've got a job for you."

Lunn turned away from his ship with a surprised look on his face, blinked at her once, then smiled. "You're Jir's little woman, aren't you?"

Nadeh tried not to twitch. Lunn was practically radiating "sweet old grandpa" vibes and blowing up on him for referring to her has Jir's 'little woman' would not be appropriate, especially when she was about to ask for help. She settled for a scowl. "I'm Jir's girlfriend, yes. Nadeh. It's about Jir I need help with, actually."

Lunn paused for a moment, and the doddering-grandpa look faded and was replaced with something more concerned. Nadeh tilted her head to the side, considering. He was Jir's friend, for all his kookiness. She sighed and glanced across the flight deck, to where Jir was putting away some tools, then back to Lunn, who still looked oddly serious. "Doctor Rou and I are planning a life day party for the men on base. I can't pay you much, but it can take months to get anything ordered in, and orders for party favors aren't something we can sneak past Captain Maki anyway."

The old bounty hunter looked at her in surprise for a moment, then beamed. "A surprise party! Well, now that I can help with! Don't need to pay me for picking up a few things on my route, neither. What's it you need, Miss Nadeh?"

Nadeh gripped the datapad in her hands tightly for a moment, then began pressing buttons. If this was going to work, they needed help. _Jir_. Think of Jir. "I'll send you the list."

* * *

The droid was trying to tell her no.

"All recipes included in my databanks are –"

"Bland and tasteless."

"GAR approved with appropriate nutrients for –"

"It's a life day party, Beefour."

"Healthy and active bodies. The recipe you have provided grossly exceeds the daily recommendation for sugar, and provides a negligible amount of nutrition. I am unable to –"

"Beefour, I realize I'm a mere mechanic, but I know enough about slicing to hack your databanks and include a recipe for buttercream frosting and sweetcake that doesn't taste like sawdust. Also, I'm fully capable of taking you apart and using you as replacement parts in starfighters. You ever want to go to space, Beefour? No one will find your remains, I promise."

The service droid's pair of glowing round ocular arrays seemed to flicker for a moment while it processed her threat as well as reassessed her request. Nadeh yanked a hydrospanner from her tool belt and twirled it between her fingers, casually.

"You may send the selected recipe for buttercream frosting and sweetcake to my memory banks."

Nadeh smiled at the droid. "Good choice, Beefour."

* * *

_**Three Weeks Later….**_

* * *

She could kiss him. So she did. On the cheek. Once. Very quickly.

"Aw," Lunn said, grinning down at her, and Nadeh scrounged up a wry smile for him.

The mess hall looked like a mooka had molted all over it – there were red balloons and green streamers everywhere, as well as a big blue flimisiplast banner Kura printed that said "HAPPY (UN) LIFE DAY!" in all capital letters. There was a giant sheet cake with about an inch and a half of yellow frosting with orange dollops all over it and more blue letters declaring a HAPPY LIFE DAY to anyone who took a moment to look at it. Nadeh grinned a little; the sweetcake was nearly as large as her bed – there _had_ to be enough food for the entire compliment of the outpost. Kura had made some sort of fizzy drink and blumfruit juice pink-punch concoction that filled a massive bowl at the end of the food table (no spiking – half the compliment of the outpost would be on-duty and if she poured any of her precious White Ambrosia in there, they'd all be in a stupor – or throwing up – for the next three days). There was an assortment of shurrafruit glazed Bama bars, a bowl of ossberry cream with honey sticks, and even a platter stacked with a tower of juicy purple meiloorun slices (Beefour insisted on _something_ at the party having nutritional value).

And there wasn't a stripper in sight. Or hiding on Lunn's jalopy of a starship (she made sure when she had to replace the power converters near his sublight engines when he arrived).

It appeared the party was actually going to be successful. Nadeh looked around the room one more time with a grin. Gheeaych was buzzing by overhead, using her repulsors to attach a final knot of green streamers in a corner while Beefour fussed behind the serving counter about people taking over his cafeteria without his permission. Most of the long, rectangular tables were pushed to the sides of the room, leaving two out closer to the center for people to sit at or mingle nearby.

It did look like a ten year old's life day party, with the giant sweetcake and all the pastries and sweets, and it set her and Kura back a paycheck or two, but considering that none of the boys had experienced something like this before, it was worth it.

Nadeh held up her comlink. "I think we're good to go, Kura."

"On my way."

Nadeh straightened herself out as Gheeaych floated down towards her and got in line. A moment later, the doors to the cafeteria opened, and Kura emerged, trailed by a somewhat puzzled Maki – who stopped in the middle of the doorway to stare around the cafeteria. Jir was a step behind him, first looking at the Captain for his abrupt stop, then into the room, to see what Maki was staring at. He blinked several times, looking around, and his mouth fell open with that awed look he got when he was surprised.

Then the smile started, and Nadeh grinned in return. When he finally spotted her, she gave a small wave, and his smile somehow managed to up its brightness several hundred watts, and she laughed.

Was it wrong to find a 1.8 meter tall musclebound mechanic cute?

The heads of several more clones were crowding the space behind Maki and Jir, and with more men came more jostling, and Maki finally began to move forward, drifting towards Kura while still gaping at the explosion of color dancing all over the usually drab grey cafeteria.

Then Jir was there, scooping her up and swinging her around so that her feet left the floor. "Kura said this was for us!" He stopped and stared at the food table. "That is a _lot_ of cake."

"We'll be eating it in here, not my quarters," she said, poking him in the abs (damn the boy had muscles…) with a finger. "No hyperventilating."

Jir promptly flushed bright red.

More troopers were beginning to fill the room, each of them drifting in with looks of surprise as they passed through the doors. It didn't take long for them to spot the giant cake and start huddling around it, while Beefour wheeled over brandishing cutting knives in two of his appendages, while he waved the men off with the other two so he could begin cutting.

Nadeh felt a hand pressed squarely into the middle of her back, then a gentle push forward while Lunn laughed. "You two go get some cake before it's all gone. Not really a life day party without cake, is it?"

At the prospect of having sugar, Jir lit up into another grin, and whipped his head back towards the bunk-sized rectangle of frosting, then looked at her with an expression he must have learned from a hungry mooka-puppy, because all she could do was smile and sigh, then nod farewell at Lunn, and let him lead her over to the line for cake.

It took twenty minutes for things to go wrong. That was apparently the length of time it took for Lunn to push them towards the cake, leave the cafeteria, get something out of his ship, and return.

Nadeh leapt when she heard the sound of a hand slamming hard onto the surface of something metal, and she turned along with everyone else in the room to see Lunn, standing just inside the room, with a hand on what had to be the biggest damn barrel she'd ever seen – the thing was hovering on a repulsor lift beside him.

There was a burst of feminine laughter that was not her own, and Nadeh groaned. Kura was happy, there was a giant barrel, and Lunn was grinning so hard his face looked ready to split from his smile. There was only one thing that could be inside.

"What is that?" Jir asked.

Lunn beamed. "This here, boys, is what you call a keg!"

There was a murmur of curiosity, and a general convergence on the keg. "What's in it?" someone asked.

"Phibian beer, straight from Nar Shaddaa!" Lunn clapped a hand against the side of the barrel proudly. "Got you boys a present myself. Can't call yourselves men if you've never had a drink, I'd say."

Nadeh sighed. At least it wasn't Zeltron in origin. Phibian beer was alcoholic, but at least it was distilled with humans in mind. A beer or two wouldn't have the entire outpost knocked out or puking for days. And Lunn had a point – if the purpose of this party was to give the guys a chance to feel normal, then having a drink was certainly a normal activity. It could be worse. Much worse.

And then Kura snapped, "WANNA BET?" in tones loud enough to be heard through the room.

There were few things for the guys to do other than work (except for Jir and Maki, who had Nadeh and Kura to do, respectively). Cleaning weapons, sleeping, gossiping, and playing sabacc were the most common down time occupations, and gambling on sabacc was quite common. Seeing as there was no sabacc game ongoing, but there was a giant keg of beer in the room, it didn't take much to guess what this particular bet was going to be about.

Nadeh sighed again and tugged Jir along so they could get a better look at the unfolding drama. Kura had, of course, pushed herself to the front of the milling crowd waiting for beer, and was now standing with her arms folded across her chest and her hips tilted at an angle, in a pose of cocky confidence. She was grinning wickedly.

Howl was having problems focusing on Kura's face, but that was nothing new. Nadeh wasn't sure exactly what emotion he was trying to convey, other than discombobulation at Kura's proximity, but it was probably an attempt at cocky confidence too. He kept trying to shove his chest out and puff himself up.

"You couldn't possibly drink more than one of us – you're half our size!"

Nadeh groaned at the announcement, and Jir looked down at her when she smacked a palm into her forehead. "What?" he asked.

"Jir, were you all ever taught anything about Zeltron physiology?"

Jir blinked once, looked thoughtful for a moment as he tried to remember what he knew about Zeltron physiology, then nodded. "They're near human, emit pheromones, are identifiable by reddish skin pigmentation, and have approximately equal levels of strength, flexibility and speed as an average human. I don't know what that has to do with beer, though."

Nadeh patted him once on the arm. "Jir, a little bit of conventional wisdom for you: never, _ever_ get into a drinking contest with a Zeltron."

"Why?"

Kura was grinning ferally, and Howl was starting to look vaguely uncertain, like he'd just realized maybe Kura wasn't bluffing her confidence. (She wasn't.) Kura stomped her way towards one of the tables and sat down, then smacked a hand on the table. "Bring on the beer! First one under the table loses…and the loser streaks naked through the outpost."

Howl's eyes bugged out, then shot straight down to Kura's chest as a series of whistles rose up around them as the men converged around Kura and began cheering Howl on.

Maki was standing off to the side, looking vaguely amused by it all. He took another bite of cake.

Nadeh shook her head and said to Jir, "Kura can drink everyone on this base under the table. And I don't mean one at a time. Zeltrons have two livers. If Howl miraculously manages to win, it'll be because he has a bigger bladder, not because he's less drunk."

"So Howl's going down, huh?"

Though it was Jir's voice that said it, it wasn't Jir. Nadeh turned her head to see Cutter ambling up to them, polishing off the last few bites of cake on his plate. He was smiling easily.

"Hello, Cutter," Nadeh greeted flatly. Damn lazy ass. He'd better not try to get her to clean up his dirty plate for him the way he did his tools.

If Cutter recognized any irritation in her tone, he ignored it and shoveled in another mouthful of cake. "Not that I really want to see Howl running naked through the outpost, but I've got a couple cleaning duty shifts I'd like to get rid of. Either of you in for a betting pool?"

He was smiling expectantly now, and receiving a pair of frowns in return (though Nadeh's involved a bit more of a glare than Jir's).

Cutter just continued smiling contentedly and stuffed a final forkful of cake into his mouth as he turned towards the huddle around the two drinkers, Lunn cheerfully bringing the first round towards them, a mug in each hand. Cutter got two steps closer to the group before he turned halfway back and hefted his empty plate at them, and gave Nadeh a small salute with his frosting-coated fork. "And hey. Nadeh. Thanks. For all this." He glanced around the room, at the streamer decked walls and the half-eaten cake. Then he turned away with a shout of, "Place your bets on a brother or the lovely doctor!" and merged into the huddle of identical men.

Nadeh and Jir stood, watching the crowd in disbelief.

"Nadeh?" Jir asked.

"Yeah?"

"Was Cutter just nice to you?"

"Is he capable of that?"

The fact Jir needed to think it over was enough to make her laugh, and as usual, when Nadeh laughed, Jir started smiling.

A startled murmur went up from the crowd, just as the sound of a mug hitting the table was heard, followed by Kura calling for round two. The two drinkers could just be seen past all the clones – Howl was barely halfway through his first beer. Cutter was doing good trade in bets, with a small huddle around him as well.

"Shouldn't we warn them Kura has an unfair advantage?" Jir asked, looking at the group with concern.

She didn't particularly feel any need to help Cutter win a bunch of bets, but…Nadeh shrugged and folded her arms. "You know, I think there are some things people have to learn on their own. Including not to get into drinking contests with Zeltrons who have the drinking capacity of a bantha."

At the mention of the word 'bantha', Jir's eyes glazed over, and his grin got adorably lopsided. He had the strangest fascination with anything bantha related, but judging by the fact he was giving her the glazed-eyes and adorably-lopsided-smile, he was thinking of a particular 'tactical intimacy maneuver' involving that name.

This was as good a time as any. She took his hand and fought back the little bit of nervousness in her stomach. This was _Jir_, he liked everything. He was going to be thrilled. Probably. "Come on. I got you something."

"A present?" he asked, startled. "I've never gotten a present."

Which was exactly why she got him something. Of course, it wasn't much – she'd spent most of her pay on the cake and the rest of the food, but Jir deserved _something_. And this was pretty much the best – and biggest – thing she could offer him.

Nadeh pulled him along out of the cafeteria by the hand, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek once they reached the hallway. He needed to shave; he was just a little prickly. She smiled a bit as she leaned against him while they walked. Jir had fabulous abs, but his arms were pretty nice too, all rippling with muscles.

They walked hand in hand down the hallways, passing the occasional trooper who hadn't yet made it to the cafeteria for cake, snacks, and apparently now beer. Nadeh led Jir down the familiar path to her quarters, keyed in the passcode, and entered the room as the door slid open.

She let go of Jir's hand and took an extra couple steps in while Jir hovered just inside the doorway. The door slid shut behind him as the lights flickered on. Everything looked the same as usual in the little living space. Her wall locker was closed, there were a few framed flimsiplast pictures of family and friends from Iridonia propped up inside a niche in the wall, the door to her refresher was open. There was only one thing that was changed – well, there were a couple little things, but without opening the sliding storage lockers under the bunk or going into the fresher, there was only one thing that was currently visible.

"Notice anything different?" Nadeh asked, and Jir glanced around the room. Jir could be unbelievably clueless at times, but there were moments – frequent moments – when all that training he went through growing up became apparent. Like noticing little changes to her quarters.

His attention finally settled on her bunk, and his brows drew together as he tilted his head slightly to the side. "You got another pillow?"

Nadeh smiled, fighting the little twist of nervousness in her belly. She nodded once, then reached out and picked it up. It was standard issue, too hard to be considered squishy, but it was comfortable enough for sleeping. She fluffed it a little and the fibers inside resisted, springing immediately back into their usual form. "I got a razor and a toothbrush too, from storage. And made some space in the drawers."

She squeezed the pillow a little more tightly, waiting. He wasn't getting it yet. Okay. No one had probably ever suggested something like this to him before. She'd have to spell things out. Nadeh sucked in a breath and extended the pillow to him. "I got it for you. To sleep on. The space in the drawers is for your things, if you want it. The toothbrush and the razor for you to use, in the mornings."

For all that Jir spent time in her quarters, they were _Nadeh's _quarters, not _Nadeh-and-Jir's_-quarters.

She was offering him the opportunity to make her quarters his, too.

Nadeh waited, watching his face slide from expression to expression as he worked it out – the offer of a pillow (confusion), that she was doing something nice for him (happy), that he had his own pillow, razor and toothbrush in barracks already (confusion again), and that she was suggesting he have a pillow, razor and toothbrush in her quarters to use every morning (shock). The moment it clicked in his brain, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

"You want me to stay here every night?"

Nadeh smiled a little, one side of her mouth curving upward. Jir still hadn't taken the pillow, so she stepped forward and pressed it against his chest. "I don't know if you're really allowed to move out of the barracks, but you're here most nights anyway. Might as well make it permanent." She hesitated, looking down at the pillow, then added, "If you want. Happy life day?"

She knew the answer was yes approximately two seconds into a hug that took her feet off the floor and nearly crushed the breath out of her. "Jir, I love you too, but air. Air!"

The embrace eased in intensity and her feet returned to the floor, but she was still bound up in a tight grip, with her arms, tucked between them at the moment he reached out for her, smushed into the pillow. Jir's face was in her neck, and though he wasn't nibbling at her skin, he was breathing her in, and she could feel the smile on his mouth.

"I don't know if I can move out of barracks either, but I'll ask the Captain."

Which meant Nadeh needed to have a chat with Kura before that happened to smooth things along. First thing tomorrow morning, then. She smiled and wriggled her arms free so she could wrap them around his neck, before putting her lips to his ear. "You know, there is one more part of the present."

That got his attention, and he turned his head enough for her to press her mouth against his for a long moment. "But I think we should move to the bed for that part. Unless you prefer the wall again?"

Jir flushed red, but grinned.

* * *

Approximately an hour later, they were rudely interrupted by someone running past the door, screaming.

There was a pause, and then Nadeh said, "Sounds like Howl finished losing."

"I think we need to finish some things too."

And then his mouth was on hers again, despite her laugh.


	39. Traditions 1

_Smile_

* * *

Traditions 1.

* * *

Beneath the hem of her robe, the stones were warm beneath her bare feet.

She walked in silence, following the dark shape of her Master before her. The soft sound of water could be heard, lapping quietly against the sides of the long pool that stretched the length of the courtyard. If she turned her head, she could see past the colonnades to the faint, rippling reflection of twin moons in the night, lambent in colors of jade and honey. The air was cool; autumn was coming, and on this world that meant freezing nights that lasted far longer than chilly days. The pool would soon freeze over, and the white petaled flowers that perfumed the air with sweetness would soon wither.

But that time was not yet now. Now were the last days of crisp summer, and insects still trilled through the evenings, while night-blossoming mirabilis opened phosphorescent blooms at sunset to fill the garden with an azure glow, and water flowed under the moonlight. The chill of the early night had not yet touched day.

Her toes were visible, peeping out from the edge of her long skirt as she walked – left, right, left, right, the viridian of her skin seeming slate grey against the tiles. The stones were grey, but a softer grey, with a flush of purpleness to them that hinted at lavender when the light of the mirabilis and the moons caressed the surface of the walkway. The edges of filigreed arabesques etched onto the walls seemed translucent where the light touched them, then deepened into shadow in the crannies of the carvings. The scrollwork was delicate, intricate, made of loops and whorls intersecting with each other and branching out until it became a bramble of stone just as interwoven and complex as the foliage of the garden.

The darker blur of her Master moved against the shadows, turned left, then passed through an arch the shape of a keyhole into a space that held a faint gleam of golden light, hinting that they were near to their destination. She breathed deeply, once, turning left and pausing to look out over the courtyard once she reached the filigree-edged archway. Two fingers came up to touch her face, her forehead, her nose, her right cheek, her chin. They were bare now, unadorned, but that would not last the night. The pattern of her life was taking shape, now that she had a Master to follow; she could no longer walk the galaxy without footprints behind her, with no evidence to show of the paths she had traveled. By daybreak, she would no longer be a child with no story written on her skin.

A passerine sang, somewhere in the bushes, whistling and trilling until it was answered by a second and then a third bird, and there was a flutter in the cultivated shrubbery as one of them took flight. She exhaled, folded her hands before her to create a semblance of tranquility, turned, and passed through the arch.

This was the heart of the temple. The passing of centuries had required renovation, but each time it was rebuilt without change, keeping its appearance constant and unwavering since the day it was first completed a millennia ago. There were no heated stones here, and the deep cold of the mountain below pressed up into the soles of her feet and she shivered as it seeped into her bones. Along the hallway were candles set in scalloped sconces, turning the slate-hued stone into a warm ivory where the orange of the flame melded with the drab of polished rock. The brightness of the light increased with each footstep, and the black blur of her Master became more distinct until her dark shape was fully enveloped by the light of a thousand candles ringing the nave.

The soft grey of the stone hall gave way to glittering rose quartz and cream colored marble. Square, the nave stood for the parts of the world, and in each corner a pillar rose skyward; one was carved in filigreed flames, one in whorls of endlessly spiraling air, one in the pattern of diamonds, cut from the earth and polished, and the last was all waves, each seeming to flow in the flickering candlelight, cresting white from the pale stone. A glance upward revealed vaults that dripped with inlay so delicate it seemed that someone had carved lace across the entirety of the ceiling. A dome crowned the vaulting, seeming to float on the moonlight let in by windows cut into its base. The etchings in the quartz made it glimmer where light touched; as though the starry sky was coming down to embrace anyone walking through the chamber.

Everywhere in the temple, there were stories carved and written on the walls. Memories and patterns left by those who went before, markers for succeeding generations to follow.

She breathed deeply, and fixed her attention on the cathedra at the end of the nave. Raised on a dais, the throne was as ornate as everything else in the room, as artfully decorated as the woman seated upon it. She was small, gowned in black, just like her Master and herself, but written across her olive skin were so many patterns. Delicate and filigreed, they covered her cheeks, bridged her nose, rose up over her forehead until they disappeared under the edge of her tall black headdress. The lines of her face gave added intricacy, the tattoos wrinkling and rippling with each crease. Her eyes were pale, slightly rheumy, but there was sharpness there too, and the gleam of intelligence and depth of age.

The stories were written across all of her skin; the history of her life illuminated in patterns and symbols and symmetry.

The Illuminated Woman stood from her throne and moved slowly down the steps, the fabric of her black robe whispering against the floor. Her Master reached out and helped her down the last two steps, then stood silently by as the Illuminated Woman moved slowly forward, lifting her hands. There were patterns there too, tiny details of ivy and scrollwork, etched into the back of her hands, her palms, her fingers – the tips were solid black – and ever so gently, they took her face in her hands.

The Illuminated Woman looked ran thumbs over her cheeks, turned her head side to side, then looked at her eyes, seeking something.

Then she smiled. "The story written on your skin is the story of your life. And it is eternal."

People felt differently, in the Force. Everyone was a little different, everyone unique. The Illuminated Woman felt like the archives at the Temple. The deep archives, where there were no holobooks, but instead flimsiplast sheets bound by thread and covered in leather. She felt of age, of turning pages, of secrets and stories undiscovered. Every line drawn on her skin was an experience, a reminder of hardships and victories – some of those lines were placed there by hands, inked into the surface of her skin. Some were placed there by time – added by worries and cares from an unknown number of years.

She had no such lines. Not yet. Tonight. After those inkwell fingertips touched her face, she would be illuminated too.

The Illuminated Woman spoke. "We write patterns on our skin to show the lessons we have learned. Time etches patterns on our skin to show the paths we have walked. Experience draws patterns on our skin to show the burdens we have carried."

Her smile widened a little. "Yes. You understand this. Kneel."

And she did. The floor was cold under her knees, just as it was under her feet. Her long skirt puddled around her, and she looked upward as the paper-thin hands of the Illuminated Woman cupped her cheeks again. "Diamonds. Yes, diamonds. Strong as adamant and made of earth. You have found your strength already. Under the eyes. Because you see and understand. Clear like diamonds, clear sighted. Yes, under the eyes. And across the cheeks. Here," the Illuminated Woman swept a thumb under her left eye. "And here." She swept the other thumb under her right eye. "But here too," she added after a moment, a thumb pressing into each side of her nose. "You breathe in the suffering of others, expel their pain with your breath. Yes. A healer, yes? A mender of broken bodies? One who restores the breath to the body. Yes, across the nose, and under the eyes, there will be diamonds."

Those black, inkwell fingers began to dance, to etch patterns on her skin. The touch was light, and cool, and it tingled as the tattoos took their places on her face, the marks of who she was. Diamonds, across her nose and cheeks. She would have diamonds, and be a healer who saw the suffering of others and sought to repair it.

As the Illuminated Woman drew stories on her skin, she breathed and felt the imprint of age.

A gentle kiss to her forehead signaled the end of the sketching, and the Illuminated Woman stepped back a pace, allowing her Master to step forward, a heavy black swathe of fabric in her arms.

"There was a time, before our people walked between the stars, that those who sought wisdom would live in their places of learning. There was little warmth in the stones then, and the heavy hood of a scholar was all that kept her warm on nights when she looked to books for knowledge, or to the heavens for the future." Her Master unfolded the fabric to reveal a hood. Far simpler than that of the Illuminated Woman or her Master, it was plain and would be kept close to her head, more fitting for a student than one of rank. But even this symbol of her apprenticeship was a powerful one; so few made it so far.

A Padawan, with a Master. A student with a teacher. A seeker of wisdom and a guide to it.

The short cloak and cowl was swept around her shoulders, tied at her neck. Her Master smoothed her hair back, then pulled the hood up so that it framed her face. The fabric was soft and thick, and though the stones were still cold and hard under her knees, warmth began to suffuse her that was perhaps not entirely from the added layer of clothing. She was a carrier of stories now; the first pattern of her life was imprinted on her skin. She was not a child, still seeking who she was, what she was. She had experience now, direction. Purpose.

Her Master straightened, blue eyes gentle. "Let this remind you of the places your ancestors walked in the past, as you walk into the future."

"I will, Master," she said voice small but firm in the quiet vastness of the chamber. Candles glowed golden yellow against the walls, illuminating the inlaid patterns carved there so many centuries ago.

Two hands were stretched out to her; one was the papery, filigreed hand of the Illuminated Woman. The other was the smoother hand of her Master, small ringlets of black encircling the joints of her fingers.

Placing her hands in those of her elders, Barriss Offee stood, and smiled.

* * *

The architecture referenced in here is inspired by the Alhambra, in Spain, and the Hagia Sophia, in Turkey.

~Queen


	40. Traditions 2

_**Author's Note**_: This one is for **Jadedsnowtiger**, who requested a scene between Ahsoka and Shaak Ti. Hope you like it! This also takes place in the _Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_ timeline, though you don't have to read that to understand this, as it takes place several years earlier.

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_Smile_

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Traditions 2.

* * *

The little girl was waggling her butt, throwing her arms around wildly, and spinning around in circles.

Her lekku were entirely too stubby to spin out around her, so instead her hands flapped in the air, patting it, fingers curling into fists, then, as she jumped, opening again to reach for the ceiling. She tilted mid-spin, toppling over with a startled yelp as she landed on her rear. A moment later, she was giggling, on her feet, and spinning again. The entire spectacle was disjointed and silly looking, as well as completely out of whack with the tempo of the rolling drums filling the air.

Ahsoka, sitting cross legged on the floor, put an elbow on her knee and her chin in her palm, and watched as one of the newest Initiates in the Temple flailed around in what could only be an attempt to dance. Ahsoka wrinkled her nose. Granted, Ashla was only about three, so she had no real echolocation to rely on, and coordination wasn't exactly a strong point for echodeaf young Togruta, but still. The younger girl leapt into the air, trying to spin around at the same time, and there was a faint pulse as the little girl tapped into the Force to give herself a few extra inches off the ground. Ahsoka's brows knitted as she shook her head and mumbled, "What is she doing?"

"Enjoying being alive."

Ahsoka stiffened, wincing. Of course one of the elders was right behind her to hear her comment. Her level of embarrassment would be proportional to the rank of the elder now kneeling down beside her - Ahsoka cast a narrow glance to her side, and tried not to groan.

Master Shaak Ti was a gently spoken woman, often with an encouraging word, but she was also quite intimidating, from the elegant rise of her lekku to her impressive skills with a lightsaber – and most recently, an appointment to the Jedi Council. She was the most highly ranked Togruta in the Temple, and this little celebration was happening because of her desire to provide her fellow Togruta a little bit of home and tradition. Criticizing a three year old for dancing around didn't exactly sound very mature, and Ahsoka, as one of the older Togruta Initiates, should be encouraging Ashla's interests rather than rolling her eyes at them. She colored deeply, the grey chevrons on her montrals flushing from grey to charcoal.

"Sorry, Master Ti."

A pair of amused grey eyes shifted momentarily in her direction, before Master Ti turned and reached out, picking up a small teapot sitting on a warming pad, then a cup. She poured herself tea, the scent fragrant and flowery, then set the pot aside and took a sip, cradling the bottom of the cup with a hand as she tilted her head back to drink.

There was an array of food spread out before them, placed on a wide burgundy rug with woven grass mats set out before each man, woman or child that attended the small celebration. They were all traditional foods from Shili: heaping platters of barbecued thimiar steak, steaming crocks of spiced curried kob sitting beside bowls of long grained rice. There were trays filled with sweet turu-seedcakes, their tops stamped with the patterns of bao tree leaves, the crevices of each design glistening with creamy glaze. Teapots and cups dotted the rug, but there were decanters too, filled with spiced mead – one of the elders gave her a sip at last year's celebration. Just a sip. A taste, he'd said, of grown up things. It was heady and sweet and burned her tongue a little bit.

Ahsoka fiddled with the sweetcake sitting on her plate, breaking off a bit to reveal the red bean paste packed inside, and she popped the piece into her mouth as she tried to get past her sense of self-consciousness, from having Master Ti sitting beside her.

"What do you know, of Ullambana?"

Ahsoka grimaced, briefly, but schooled her face to neutrality and straightened her back. Master Ti was a Jedi, just like the teachers in the academy. When she did something wrong, she was taught why it was wrong, but it often wasn't approached directly. A lesson was always made out of it. She breathed in and out once, preparing herself, just as she scraped together whatever she could recollect about today's festival.

"Ullambana is the Togruta Festival of Ghosts. It's for remembering the dead, and celebrating that we're still alive." Ahsoka glanced towards the front of the room; it wasn't an overly large space, but it was large enough to hold about thirty Togruta of varying ages, their food, and a clear area towards the front. Several sitting pillows were arranged in two short rows facing a round table filled with candles – the Ullambana fire, or the closest thing to it they could have inside the Jedi Temple. There were many sizes and colors of candle, some squat and thick, others tall and dripping melted wax, all brightly shining in the dimness of the room. The seats were for any deceased Togruta that might be passing through – probably Jedi ones, since they were in the Temple.

"And what can you tell me, of the fire dance?"

Ahsoka looked over at Yabi and old Hashi, standing in one darkened corner and speaking in low tones as they fixed headdresses over their montrals; Yabi was weaving a simpler band around Hashi's head. She would dance the lead this year, since he was getting too old; Hashi's stoop was getting more pronounced, his fingers a little more gnarled as he aged, but he was smiling as he beamed up at his dancing student and clapped his hands over hers, squeezing them a little in encouragement. Yabi grinned and said something to him that made him laugh. Both were barefoot, in long robes – Yabi's a little longer because she would lead and because she was female. Long, loose pants were visible under Hashi's calf-length tunic.

Ashla had given up her twirling and leaping, and was running over to them, bouncing excitedly as they finished preparing themselves. Yabi bent down at patted her on the head, between the little lumps that would someday grow into montrals.

So that was Master Ti's point. She'd meant no disrespect to the dancers or to Togruta tradition. Ashla just looked silly spinning around, was all, without knowing what she was doing. Ahsoka fidgeted. "It's supposed to represent being alive?"

Master Ti set her teacup down and placed her hands lightly on her thighs. "When is it, Ahsoka, that you feel the Force most strongly?"

She should probably say 'when I try to meditate' because that was the point of meditating, but Ahsoka had never been good at it, and Master Ti would probably know that, plus Master Ti was a Master, and she'd know if Ahsoka lied or tried to fudge the truth. So she was honest. "Lightsaber practice."

Master Ti smiled at her a little, wryly. "Somehow, that does not surprise me, young one."

The drumming music playing through the room lessened, and the murmurings of several conversations in Togruti quieted along with the music. Heads turned to see Yabi manipulating the music system, while Hashi gave Ashla a quick scoot towards some other adults before folding his hands and bowing once towards the crowd. "Please accept this dance, as we remember those who are gone."

As Ashla was enveloped in a hug from one of the other spectators, Yabi pressed a button on the sound system, and took a place before Hashi. They quickly slid pairs of small wooden castanets onto their fingers, just as the first notes of a soft, soprano voice filled the room. With those first sounds came a gentle click of castanets, the two dancers snapping their fingers together and apart as they lifted their hands high, then back, snapping them again.

From their place near the wall, they moved forward, each bare foot placed carefully before the other, pivoting so that they could bend their knees, dip low; Yabi's long lekku swung low to the ground, ash colored tips sweeping the surface of the floor before she turned her face skyward, pulled her arms around to her chest, and clicked her castanets again. Longer, her skirt swirled further than that of Hashi, but the two dancers moved in unison, until they stood shadowed against the candlelight, and their shadows chased each other across the ground. They faced each other, placed hands together, and bowed before turning, Yabi to the right, Hashi to the left, and they circled the light emanating from the candles.

The movements were not easy, Ahsoka knew. Learning kata was not easy, learning the footwork to fence with a lightsaber was not easy. Learning how to bend and twist, pause and balance in a dance, it had to be the same.

She heard Master Ti shift forward slightly, inching somewhat closer to Ahsoka's back, though her attention did not waver from the two dancers, moving with such deliberate grace around the source of light. Master Ti said, quietly, "There are times, different for each of us, when the body and the spirit are closer to each other than others. Those are the times we feel the most alive. For you, it is lightsaber practice, when you feel the flow of the Force most strongly within you. Perhaps for Ashla, it is when her feet leave the ground, and she spins and turns. It is so for Hashi, and for Yabi."

The next maneuver was difficult, executed as a swell of drums built up in the music. Legs wide, feet firmly planted, Yabi and Hashi tilted their bodies until they stood on only one bare foot, the other in the air in perfect balance and symmetry with each other. They paused that way, hands out and up, slanted towards the sky, until they lowered, and their feet came down in a grounding stomp, only to serve as a segue into the next step. The shadows kept them shrouded, light playing off the planes of their faces and the curves of their montrals. Their shadows danced on the walls.

Master Ti's voice continued, "The fire dance is not so different from knowing when to move your lightsaber. You let yourself flow, forget your clay body and become luminous, like a star. Our bodies are temporary, crude matter. We are luminous inside. The body is a mere shadow of reality. When you look beyond the shadows, what do you see?"

Mere silhouettes, Yabi and Hashi moved, their steps slow, deliberate, poised and perfect. Behind them were the candles, yellow-gold and warm. Their castanets clicked as they bent low but lifted their hands, opening them as though to cup the air.

There was only one thing beyond the dancing shadows.

"The light," Ahsoka responded, keeping her voice low.

A hand was placed lightly on her shoulder, and Ahsoka turned her head to see Master Ti's smile. "Those moments when we dance – we come closest to shedding our skin and becoming stars. Pure spirits, luminous beings. True selves." She nodded towards the empty places before the dancers, the pillows reserved for the ghosts. "Ullambana celebrates being alive, but it celebrates death too, for there is no death. There is only the loss of the body, for the spirit is already a part of the Force."

Ahsoka glanced towards Ashla, sitting in the lap of one of the other Togruta, a middle-aged Knight. She was bobbing her head and kicking her bare feet idly, trying to match the rhythm of the drums and the trill of the flute and the movement of the dancers. There was a delighted, babyish smile on her face.

She returned her attention to Master Ti. Everyone was a little different, in how they felt the Force. It wasn't her place to judge how others expressed that feeling. Ahsoka smiled a little, allowing her expression to match that of Ashla, that of Master Ti, that of the onlookers, that of the dancers, who smiled while they danced. Besides, Ashla was a sweet little girl, even if she wasn't very coordinated yet.

Maybe one of these days, Ahsoka should show her some simple Shii-Cho movements. Help her out. Ahsoka was one of the best fighters in her age group. She was quick and she was clever. Kata and dancing weren't quite the same thing, but they both required balance and coordination. Ahsoka could help Ashla with that. Besides, Ashla was Togruta. It wouldn't be right for a Togruta to be toppling over all the time, even if Ashla's echodeafness was a result of her underdeveloped montrals, and would fade as she grew and gained proper Togruta echolocation and balance.

To Master Ti, Ahsoka nodded once, her chin-length lekku twitching an apology. "I will remember, Master Ti."

Master Ti smiled as she nodded once, her hand slipping away from Ahsoka's shoulder, and her attention returning to the dance.

The two dancers turned, and spun, and though they cast shadows across the ground, Ahsoka looked past and saw the candlelight behind them, and smiled.

* * *

Music for this ficlet is _Lords of Kobol_, from the _Battlestar Galactica_ soundtrack. You can hear it on YouTube, if you look for it.

~Queen


	41. Driver's Ed 2

**Author's Note**: This one is for SerendipityAEY, who wanted Obi-Wan and driving. Enjoy!

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_Smile_

* * *

Drivers Ed. 2.

* * *

"Pull out into traffic _carefully_, Obi-Wan," Master Qui-Gon said, arms folded across his chest and looking entirely unperturbed by the fact he was about to take Obi-Wan out for his first real drive.

There'd been plenty of simulators before the real thing, of course, but this was it. He was finally doing the real thing: driving. Being chosen as a Padawan and constructing a lightsaber marked him as a grown up Jedi; actually being able to drive? Well, that marked him as a grown up member of the human race.

Obi-Wan beamed. He'd practiced this lots of times in sims and had memorized the driving manuals. He was totally ready for this. He checked his navicomputer, altitude limiter, speed governor, and the Force, which indicated just the right place for him to enter the flow of traffic.

He turned on his right turn signal, and pressed on the accelerator. He moved into traffic smoothly. His grin widened further.

Obi-Wan flicked on his left turn signal, planning on taking them in a full loop around the edge of the Temple Precinct. It was hard not to gawp at everything. Coruscant in the evening was a sight to behold from up high, full of lit up buildings. He'd seen it all dozens of times before, but this time, _he_ was in charge of the flight path, and –

That was when everything went downhill.

The sound of engines revving clogged the air, and Obi-Wan winced, slamming down on the brakes as something large, loud, and repulsor-equipped came scathingly close to slicing off the top of their exposed heads.

A pair of Nikto on racing-painted swoops shot past their considerably more modest speeder, gunning their engines and laughing raucously as they swept around the corner of a nearby building. Obi-Wan yelped, and Qui-Gon said something in a language he didn't quite understand, but judging by the tone and the sense of annoyance he was kicking off into the Force, it was critical of their driving skills. Also, probably rude.

Obi-Wan had two seconds to catch his breath before the sound of revving engines came again – and, again, from behind. Another Nikto and a Weequay were hot on the heels of what Obi-Wan figured were their friends – he didn't sense any deliberate malice in the racing, just a sense of reckless joy and excitement. The third Nikto had a blue-skinned Twi'lek girl on his back seat, her hands in the air and lekku streaming as the second set of swoops gunned their engines and wove in front of him, cutting him off and blocking the view of the lane in front of him.

"Obi-Wan! Be mindful!" was all the warning he got before he realized he was shooting straight through a busy intersection.

Obi-Wan slammed on the brakes. Speeder headlights rose up at him like a wave. No, bad idea - oncoming traffic! He slammed on the accelerator, swerving, but the sudden stop, go – then another stomp on the brakes to avoid a speeder – sent him skidding uncontrollably into the side of a speeder truck that seemed to be full of leafy green produce.

The leafy green produce exploded out of the truck as several horns began to blast in alarm, and then there was a disturbing sound of crunching metal and a squeal of brakes from somewhere nearby.

Obi-Wan, fortunately or unfortunately, couldn't see the entirety of the accident site. He was completely covered in cabbage.

From somewhere amid all the produce, Obi-Wan heard Qui-Gon sigh. "You have much to learn, my very young apprentice."

Obi-Wan spat out a cabbage leaf.

* * *

He couldn't be a Jedi without knowing how to drive properly. Knowing how to drive a vehicle, either landspeeder or starfighter, was considered kind of a required skill. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries from the accident a few weeks earlier, and after a break, Qui-Gon was insisting he practice driving again.

Obi-Wan was a little less excited about driving this time. People drove _crazy_.

This time, Qui-Gon took him to a less busy quarter of Coruscant – a small sector where the Fobosi district bumped into the Works. It was quiet. It was not as bright or full of traffic as the heart of the Fobosi district or the Temple Precinct. Which meant it was a bit safer in terms of a place to take inexperienced drivers.

It was just, that, well, it was the Works. There were feral droids and deathstick dealers in there. Somewhere. Probably a lot further in. But still.

He had a bad feeling about this.

This time, Master Qui-Gon was well strapped into his seat, bracing himself firmly against the door. "Very well, Obi-Wan. You may begin. Accelerate slowly."

Obi-Wan did so, and the speeder crept upward into the air, crawling down the street at a bantha's pace, passing by streetlamp after streetlamp as they puttered their way over the heads of people below. There was some traffic, but not much; most of the speeders ignored him entirely, and when he finally got through his first intersection without incident, Obi-Wan – and Qui-Gon, beside him – exhaled a sigh of relief.

Then the shooting began.

A pair of speeders shot out from one alleyway, the front one shooting backward as the trailing one shot forward. Screams erupted from below as blaster bolts began to singe the air. Whoever was riding shotgun in the front seat of the first speeder appeared to be a very large, very angry, very armed Wookiee with a bowcaster. A roar of victory went up when the second speeder's engine suddenly erupted in flames.

Of course, while the second speeder crashed and burned, the first speeder was still on a collision course for the two Jedi and their very sensible training speeder.

"Obi-Wan! Land! Land!"

That was when the Wookiee realized there was something obstructing the lane and his escape route. With another roar, he turned the bowcaster on the Jedi and began to shoot, seemingly taken with the brilliant idea of blasting them out of the way.

The windshield in front of him shattered, and something hot and sharp sizzled by Obi-Wan's ear, only to slam into the backseat as he tried to take the speeder down. The force of the blaster bolt was strong enough to send the little speeder into a tailspin, and there were more screams from below as a plaza swept up to meet them.

They hit something that crunched, splintered, and flew into the air.

Then it rained vegetables.

This time, it wasn't cabbage. It was lettuce. _Pink_ lettuce.

Obi-Wan spat out a lettuce leaf.

"I'm beginning to think the Force is trying to tell you something, my young apprentice," Qui-Gon intoned, unearthing himself from a pile of pink lettuce heads.

Obi-Wan's forehead hit the steering wheel.

* * *

It seemed it was time for another approach.

For the last several weeks, they'd been on the trail of a Black Sun smuggling ring, which was rumored to be selling spice throughout a series of systems previously without much Black Sun influence. The trail eventually led them to a small, rural world, before running cold; all they managed to find was a series of hyperactive teenagers strung out on entirely too much giggledust. They all thought that being interrogated by a pair of annoyed Jedi to be hilarious. They were promptly turned over to the local authorities and their equally annoyed parents.

The two Jedi would be heading off world within the hour, but first, there would be driving. Since Coruscant seemed to be a constant source of problematic driving spots, Qui-Gon decided that a nice, quiet drive in the country would be a better alternative.

And so the two Jedi were seated in a borrowed speeder, slowly moving along one of the empty back roads by the nearest spaceport. They moved past fields of grain, blowing in the wind, before emerging into a more forested area. The road curved around, and would eventually take them back into town where they could get back on their ship. Obi-Wan began to relax. They'd been on the road for nearly fifteen minutes, and there had been no swoop bikes, no produce, and no armed Wookiees trying to attack him. With the windows open, the breeze moved through the speeder, tousling his short hair. This was much more like how he imagined driving to be, at least when he wasn't on a mission and trying to dodge bullets. Obi-Wan relaxed into the seat, and sent a small, pleased smile at Master Qui-Gon, who said, mildly, "Eyes on the road, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan did as he was told. The forest was becoming a bit thicker with trees. It was autumn, and most of them were shades of yellow, orange and red.

That was, perhaps, why he didn't notice the birds at first, along with his nervousness about other speeders and aggressive leafy vegetables. Plump and fiery red, they were hopping from tree to tree, gathering along the branches that lined the road. It was when the first one swooped down in front of him that he was forced to pay attention, and he yelped a bit as it came disturbingly close to the windshield. A quick look in the rearview mirror showed the bird had continued on past…but that there was a flock of them now swarming behind the speeder, whistling and squawking.

"Obi-Wan, ahead of you!" Qui-Gon called, and Obi-Wan returned his attention forward. The flock was forming ahead of them as well, the birds hopping off the trees and flying forward into the road.

The dive bombing began. Angry red birds attacked the speeder, swooping down and slamming themselves into the windshield, squawking and flapping their wings as they pecked furiously at the glass. The entire speeder was surrounded in a feathery cloud of the pests, and scarlet feathers were plastered to all the windows.

Which meant Obi-Wan couldn't see.

The speeder continued straight ahead as the road curved. A moment later, it slammed into a tree, and the birds panicked, flying up into the branches and scolding as the two Jedi clambered out of the vehicle, now wrapped around a tree trunk.

"I believe we have made the birds angry enough for today," Qui-Gon said as he gave Obi-Wan a hand up. "We'd best be going."

Obi-Wan coughed out a mouthful of feathers.

* * *

With a wave of his hand a bit of a push from the Force, the two Black Sun agents went flying off their feet, and Obi-Wan broke into a run. Across the docking bay, Master Qui-Gon was almost surrounded, his back up against one of the speeder trucks that was being used to deliver spice to various locations across the city. The thugs who were in charge of the deliveries weren't entirely stupid, and had figured out that focusing their blaster fire on the older, more experienced Jedi would keep him from aiding the younger one.

Of course, they didn't know that Obi-Wan needed very little help. Still, they were outnumbered and outgunned, and remaining inside the enclosed bay was giving them little room for maneuverability. They had to get out of the docks, and into a more open area, where they could choose their own footing.

Shouts from behind warned him that his two friends were back on their feet, and their renewed shouting was accompanied by blaster shots winging by him. Fortunately, though they were in an enclosed space, the bay was full of cover. Obi-Wan dove into a fancy looking convertible, and one of the two men behind him screeched. The blaster shots suddenly stopped, and Obi-Wan allowed himself to grin for a moment as he ripped into the command console and began to hotwire it. Yes, it would be a terrible shame if they scratched their boss's expensive speeder – or just got his blood all over it.

The engine revved to life, and Obi-Wan slammed his foot down on the accelerator, lurching forward as the first of the men caught up and made a grab at him, a second too late. Obi-Wan laid on the horn as he shot towards Qui-Gon's group, and while some men scattered, others refocused their attention on the speeder bearing down on them and opened fire. In doing so, they stopped paying attention to Qui-Gon, which was a rather nasty mistake, as they suddenly found themselves flying across the loading dock until they hit a very hard duracrete wall.

"Let's go," Qui-Gon said as he leapt into the passenger seat. Remaining standing while Obi-Wan gunned the engine and peeled out of the dock, Qui-Got batted several more shots back at their pursuers as more engines began to fire up.

The docks were located close to the shopping district, to make it easier for more reputable deliveries to make it to the market. It took only a few seconds before there were more green blaster shots flying at them and past them; Qui-Gon stood, balancing on the seat and the trunk, and covered them as Obi-Wan drove.

The market burst into view, unavoidable. He laid on the horn again as the convertible bolted into the first of the rows of shops. Sellers and shoppers began screaming, diving out of the way as their speeder zoomed down the aisle, a pair of Black Sun speeders in close pursuit and shooting. The marketplace was filled with wares of every kind, though most were household goods and items needed in daily life. They passed by stalls filled with carpets and rugs, a noodle shop, a vendor selling sparkling jewelry and another, sprawling place selling used electronic parts. It was when Obi-Wan spotted the vegetable vendor that he grinned.

"Master!" he shouted over the din of the wind, screaming people, blaster fire, and Qui-Gon's lightsaber humming. "They look like they might enjoy a bit of dinner, don't you think?"

Qui-Gon turned for a moment, long hair whipping around his face, to see what Obi-Wan was referring to. The stall was rapidly approaching on their right, and it took only a moment for Qui-Gon to raise a hand and lift the entire display of cabbage, launching it at the Black Sun agents following them. The several dozen cannonball sized cabbages hit the pair of speeders head on, erupting into leaves as they impacted windshields and burst. Several agents who had been firing found themselves getting hit in the face with cabbages and were flung off their speeders. Suddenly overwhelmed by the produce attack and unable to see, the drivers hit the brakes. The speeder in the rear wasn't quite as quick as the one in the front, and it rear ended the lead speeder. The _boom_ of impact roared through the market as the poor vendor began screaming about his ruined cabbages. The Jedi zipped by him, leaving the pair of Black Sun speeders in the dust behind them.

Dropping down into the seat beside him, Qui-Gon shouted, "Obi-Wan! Wall!"

Slamming a foot on the brake, Obi-Wan swerved. The entire marketplace was encompassed by a large, grey duracrete wall, and their race down one of the aisles had brought them to the outer rim of the market plaza. More shops, lining the wall, grew disturbingly close as they skid, the repulsors trying to compensate for the sudden brake and change in direction. They drifted within inches of a shoe shop, before shooting off to the right and swooping back around into another aisle.

Black Sun reinforcements were on their way, and were approaching from the other end. With all the shops lining either side of the aisle, it wasn't possible to go any way beside forward. This time, rather than speeders, the Black Sun thugs were on swoop bikes and were charging forward, already passing the halfway point of the aisle. There was no time to back up, either; there was little space to retreat and the faster, more maneuverable swoops would simply follow.

They did, however, have an expanse of wall right behind them. Obi-Wan stomped on the accelerator again, and the speeder launched itself forward. "Master, hang on!" he shouted as they played nuna with the swoop riders, both speeder and swoop increasing in speed as they raced down the length of the marketplace. He drove straight into a blaze of multicolored blaster shots, and the two Jedi kept low to avoid being hit.

At twenty meters and closing, Obi-Wan reached for the repulsor controls, unbalancing them. He powered up the left repulsor so that the left half of their speeder shot upward. Vertical, the speeder shot between the two swoops just as Obi-Wan jerked the left repulsor back into normal position, and the speeder bounced back into place. Obi-Wan then stepped on the decelerator and spun the control wheel, bringing them around.

Behind them, the swoops tried to brake, but between the uncontrollability of a swoop and the speeds they were running at, the two bikes were barely able to slow before they slammed into the duracrete wall, shedding Black Sun thugs as they went. Two fireballs erupted against the wall as men struggled, then failed, to rise from the ground as their speeders burned behind them.

"It seems," Qui-Gon said thoughtfully, as the sound of police sirens began to wail in the distance, "that your trouble with speeders has an unexpected – if positive- side effect, Obi-Wan."

At least he didn't have a mouthful of cabbage, lettuce, or feathers this time. Still, he wasn't sure if he liked facing down people shooting at him, either. "I really dislike driving, Master," Obi-Wan told him.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Wait until you try flying."

Sitting in the driver's seat, Obi-Wan began to have a bad feeling….

* * *

Ha! Redone! I somehow managed to lose the second half of this fic (everything after the Wookiee on Coruscant) and so had to rewrite it. SerendipityAEY, I hope you still like the redone version.

This fic is inspired by a news story from last spring, where some guy, who had legally changed his name to "Obiwan Kenobi" was arrested in a hit and run case. Considering how much the real Obi-Wan dislikes flying (and presumably driving) it was just too appealing an idea to pass up.

Also, anyone who got the _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ reference gets a cabbage.

~Queen


	42. Braided

**Author's Note**: Remember the fourth _Smile_ ficlet, _Chignon 3_? And the 32nd ficlet, _Ascension_? This one takes place between them, assuming they're in the same continuity. Cody has been looking at Barriss' hair (_Chignon 3_), and this is a day or two _**before**_ they go up the mountain (_Ascension_). So, Cody and Barriss are off on their own on a jungle planet….

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Braided.

* * *

He could not feel her, through his armor.

Their shoulders were touching; the damp, black fabric of her robes was splattered against the dirty white of his armor. There were slightly cleaner streaks just below where cloth met plastoid – the dripping rainwater from her clothes carved rivulets through the more thinly smeared mud sticking to him.

Her head wasn't on his shoulder. Her hair – braided neatly before, messily now – wasn't flopped across his shoulder or upper arm, though her head was tilted in his general direction, chin down, and her braid was tantalizingly close. He couldn't see the blue reflection of stark landing bay lights glancing off it. Right now, it was wet, black as space and just as smooth, locks folding and weaving into each other.

Was it really just a day ago he'd wondered what it felt like to touch it? It was almost mocking him, but it was just hair, even if it was _her_ hair, and it was hard to imagine Barriss Offee mocking anyone.

Cody didn't jump when the storm unleashed another explosion of thunder. It was a different kind of ordinance than from a battlefield, but it was just as noisy, just as random, and he was used to ignoring anything that didn't sound like it was about to blow him – or his people – up.

The air was as thick with humidity as with bugs, and there were at least a dozen mottled orangey-green hoppers taking shelter with them under the outcropping of rock they found while the rain sheeted down and the sky tried to rip itself apart. It was daytime; the sun would set soon, but they'd been huddled under their precarious shelter since an hour after midday. They'd trudged through it for what was only ten minutes, but felt like forever, before finding their bit of shelter. The rain was warm, but it still chilled on the skin. Unfortunately, there wasn't any dry wood anywhere, and even if there was, there was no space for a fire.

Offee stirred slightly, her head bobbing once before she pressed her lips together, then sighed into a deeper sleep.

If they were being forced to stop, it only made sense that they get some sleep. Cody offered to take the first watch, though it was unlikely many predators – Separatist or animal – would be out in this kind of rain. He'd have thought it a hurricane if they were closer to a coast, but there was no such activity anticipated before they landed; it was simply monsoon season. He had his blaster in his lap and his helmet beside him. Two seconds until he was fully armed. One before he was ready to shoot, if he shot first, put his helmet on second.

Nothing would be out in the rain. Offee was a Jedi. She would sleep lightly. He'd never been this close up to a female before. It was…distracting. Distracting was bad. Even if there wasn't anything out in the rain.

He'd met plenty of girls – and women – before. Well, some girls and women. Commander Tano most regularly, but other Jedi too, including Barriss. Offee. Commander Offee. None of them ever sat squished against him with overly interesting wet hair before. She smelled like rain and earth. A little like sweat too, but mostly like wind-blown water. Her chin was narrow, and her lashes were as black as her hair, and even through the gloom of the storm there was just enough grey light to see them lay dark against her cheeks. Her tattoos were Mirialan, and formal, but this close they looked more like strange freckles than the result of some exotic ritual. Black freckles. Black, diamond shaped freckles that were not cute, because that would be a very inappropriate thing to think about a Jedi's tattoos. Or at all.

Still no predators. The rain pounded the stone above them, thudded into the dirt beyond the overhang, and dripped from the edges of the flora hanging halfway across the upper edge of their shelter. One of the hopper bugs adjusted its position and creaked out a squeaky call to the other insects, which was answered a moment later.

Offee was still sitting next to him, her shoulder pressed against his.

She'd sleep lightly. She was a Jedi. She'd wake up if he touched her.

Lightning cracked the air outside, and a flash of light lit the interior of their little hideaway. Offee flinched in her sleep, her eyes fluttered, then settled, remaining closed. She'd learned how to filter for the sound of danger, too, it seemed. He breathed out once.

The braid was still lying there, slipping over her shoulder, trailing down into the valley between where her left arm met her ribs. Whatever she used to tie it together had come off sometime during the day, probably around the same time she lost her hood. The end of the braid was unraveled, showing damp, wavy locks of hair.

Her eyes were still closed and another boom sounded in the atmosphere.

He was a commander. A professional. A leader of men and a veteran of many battles.

He should not be sitting here obsessing over a swath of braided hair, even if it was so close, and interesting, and horribly present. And feminine. It was ridiculous. He'd have to take off a glove to feel it; he couldn't dig his fingers into the weave of the braid, run his fingers down it and undo it, see if the whole length of her hair would ripple like the ends, if it would flow like water across his palms.

Offee was breathing steadily. She looked vulnerable in her sleep. But she was a Jedi, and therefore anything but vulnerable. Her chest rose and fell softly, and her dark lips were slightly parted. Her arms were folded across her waist, her feet tucked up close to her, knees tilted somewhat to the side.

Lightly? _Very_ lightly. Just once. For curiosity's sake, and then maybe he could feel a bit more settled.

He moved slowly, letting his deece sit in his lap, barrel facing away from her. Slowly, he pulled off his left gauntlet and set it on top of the blaster. His hands were still fairly clean, considering all the dirt on his armor. The gloves under the plastoid kept most everything out. His skin seemed a remarkably ordinary human brown compared to her deep olive tones.

Just for a moment. Lightly. To satisfy curiosity, and that was all. He let his fingertips run lightly across the loose waves at the end of her braid.

It was soft. Smooth, wet under his touch, and it clung together, rippling until it curled into a tip. Cody's fingers lingered there for a long moment as the rain drummed against the ground and the sky rumbled.

When he lifted his fingers up, he intended for them to return to his gauntlet, but they didn't. They went higher, to where the braid met her shoulder, and lightly traced the sections of hair that folded in and around each other somehow, forming swells and dips that made her hair wavy at the end.

He turned his hand, let the back of his knuckles slide across the loose strands, sink into the wealth of hair. Black, and not without tangles from all their running during the day, but still soft, fluid, flowing down over her shoulder and her arm until the ends curled. It was different from his hair, longer, a different shade of black, but it felt similar to his own. They were both human – or very nearly, in her case. So similar, and yet, so different.

There were a few strands plastered to her cheek. He really would wake her up if he tried to touch her face.

She'd probably be upset, unsettled – annoyed – about him touching her. It was inappropriate in entirely too many different ways, but somewhere under all his training and knowledge of regulation and the massive gap between a clone and a Jedi, he still wanted to know what it felt like, to touch a woman. Even a little bit. There was only so much the Kaminoans could strip from a genetic code, and curiosity couldn't be removed.

He rubbed his thumb across his fingers, feeling the lingering softness of her hair. Desire couldn't be removed either, but this was already more than he should permit himself. Any more was unconscionable. Desire couldn't be removed, but it could be controlled. If there was one thing he was good at, it was remaining in control.

Cody made a small, aggravated sound in the back of his throat and snatched back up his gauntlet. It would be best if he forgot about this moment of weakness; even with the memory of her softness printed on his fingertips, it was too wrong. He didn't have her permission. It was sneaky, and taking advantage, touching her without her knowledge. He stuffed his hand back into the gauntlet. It was distracting. They had distance to cover and work to do – he shouldn't be thinking about women, much less Mirialan Jedi women with cute tattoos and soft wet hair and clingy wet robes, _shavit_ –

"Cody?"

And open, blue eyes that were indigo in the grey light of the storm. Heavy lidded, with her brows drawn together, she looked worried.

He turned away.

* * *

She hadn't been leaning on him, she was fairly sure. But he'd moved abruptly in some way she hadn't quite caught in her sleepiness, and now found herself awake and facing a startled, then disturbed looking Cody, who promptly shifted so that his back was towards her.

Barriss blinked a few times. Had she done something wrong? She checked her mouth – she didn't seem to have drooled on him. She was fairly sure she didn't talk in her sleep. Had she flopped over onto him or something? She glanced away for a moment, turning a little greener with embarrassment. Their shelter wasn't very large, and they needed to sit side by side to fully fit. The rain was still pouring down, and another flash and roll of thunder filled the sky.

The startled look on his face had been one of embarrassment, not irritation. Perhaps he found her proximity uncomfortable?

That stung a little. Still, it didn't matter. Not really. They'd gotten along well enough the past day. She'd thought they'd struck up a camaraderie, if not a friendship while they trekked through the jungle.

She was reluctant to invade his privacy and pry into his feelings with the Force; fortunately it wasn't too hard to read his body language. He was curled forward, not looking at her, and she could see a red flush up the back of his neck, in the narrow bit of space between his hairline and where the collar of his bodysuit left a gap. There was embarrassment there, but it was too stubborn a pose for some silly movement she'd made in her sleep. Suddenly his spine stiffened, and he straightened, and he slammed his helmet back onto his head, a posture of rigidity and propriety overlapping and overwhelming the embarrassment. There was too little space for him to move away, but the inches seemed far enough, with his back to her and his helmet on.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen one of the men stuff himself into his helmet. It was for privacy, a retreat, a little bit of space for himself.

If she hadn't done something to embarrass him, then he'd found something on his own to be embarrassed about. Clearly, something about her.

If she reached out to comfort him, to tell him it was alright, whatever it was that was wrong, he wouldn't feel her hand on his armor. And though she had no real sense of embarrassment or need for rigidity at the moment, it was propriety that kept her from reaching out to touch him. Cody was a companion, perhaps now a friend, but to touch him, wrap an arm around him and urge him to relax would be too personal, too intimate. As a Jedi, she had to keep some distance.

But also as a Jedi, she was kind.

"You should rest. I've slept some. Take your turn."

He did not move from his position for several long moments, but then he shifted, black visor looking at her blankly until he nodded once.

When he settled back against the wall of rock behind them, there was an inch of space between them. His hands rested lightly on his blaster, and it was several minutes before his head began to nod, then droop. His shoulders eased, his hands relaxed, his legs inched a little closer to the outside of the stone shelter. He twitched once, then twice, and Barriss smiled as he fell asleep.

If all was as proper as it should be, she shouldn't allow herself any pleasure in watching him rest. Shouldn't feel a little saddened he left that inch of space between them. But they were miles away from any watchful eyes, and all the rules that went with them.

She would feel embarrassed too, when he woke up and looked at her again, but she scooted closer to him, just enough to close the tiny gap between them. He couldn't feel the brush of her arm through the dirty, orange streaked plastoid armor he wore. It was solid, if battered.

It was a relief, to not be alone out here.

She wondered what his face looked like, in sleep.

Was it relaxed and restful? Or did he still struggle with whatever upset him?

The thunder rolled above, long and low and without lightning. Perhaps the storm would end soon.

Cody's arm twitched beside hers, and Barriss lifted a hand, fingers hovering for several long moments, before they descended. She couldn't smooth away his stress by caressing his face, nor would it be appropriate for her to.

So instead she let her hand rest on his arm, and watched for danger, and let the Force flow in calming waves through her and into him, until he slumped against her, her messy black braid lying in the nook between where her arm pressed against his.

* * *

These two are always entirely too much fun to write.


	43. Flight

**Author's Note: **This one is for xander867, who requested an average person reacting to or affected by the Clone Wars. I'm not sure this is quite what you had in mind, xander, but I hope you like it….

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Flight.

* * *

They moved across the plaza with the grace of birds across the sky.

Raptor birds, perhaps, but birds, and though they were thoroughly grounded, it reminded her of home. There was an efficient beauty to their regular marching; they wheeled and turned as precisely as any flock, though they marched in dual lines rather than in the vee-pattern of migrating birds, or the dense mass of feeding ones. Their leaders led, and all the others followed in perfect suit.

She stood alone, and watched them.

Every two hours they changed, marching across the plaza several stories below her apartment. She could watch them all day, with all the smooth efficiency of clockwork and the avian grace. It was reminiscent of home, and she missed home. There were so few Omwati on Coruscant, and Kiin Iiro felt her lack of flock here even more acutely than at home, where she at least had her mother. Flying alone – studying here, alone – was uncomfortable. Coruscant was so alien. Or perhaps she was the one too alien.

Her apartment was high enough to be comfortable, facing the skyline and providing a welcoming view not unlike that which she would find on Omwat; here, though, the landscape was all metal and glass, rather than honeycombed, snowcapped mountainsides and silvery spires that pierced the clouds. Still, when the sun set, red light would touch the tops of the roofs and slide along the windowpanes, and turn everything into a molten river of light stretching west. It was an aerie, even if an alien one, and an Omwati was comfortable in high places where the wind was so strong it could lift a person from their feet.

She liked the breeze afforded by her apartment's balcony, even though the air all too often smelled of exhaust; the Fobosi District was constantly active, with speeders roaming at all hours. Her pale blue hands curled around the ledge of her balcony, and as she leaned her head out over the edge, the long strands of her scalp's downy, opalescent feathers caught in the updraft, swirling up and behind her.

Two new lines of men were marching across the plaza, veering slightly to avoid the large fountain gracing the center of it and making the wind taste faintly like water. Kiin Iiro wasn't quite sure what the business across the way specialized in – security of some kind – but it was clearly important enough to warrant the attention of the Coruscant Guard.

When she'd accepted the apartment, she'd been disappointed her allowance did not provide her enough money to rent a place closer to the Skydome Gardens, but now…she sighed. It was silly, watching them and wondering who they were, if they were grateful they were surrounded by their flock. They did not know her, did not know how she observed them from her aerie. She watched them only covertly when she walked through the plaza in the mornings on her way to the university, watched only indirectly on her way home in the evenings; they had regular patterns. The same men would be there in the morning, others in the evening. She learned them by patterns on their armor, painted stripes and swirls and roundels. She learned them by who wore the strange half-skirts, and who wore the large shoulder pads, and who had extra tech affixed to their helmets. She wondered at their names.

All wore bright white armor, painted in streaks of red. Red was lucky; it was a life-color, like blood and fire and the sun when it rose or set. She felt safer with them there, even though soldiers were not considered so lucky on Omwat; war among Omwati was rare indeed, the behavior frowned upon after centuries of peace. But the larger galaxy was not as civilized as Omwat, and knowing there were red-tinted wings of warriors allied to her people nearby was a small comfort.

Kiin Iiro had no courage to speak to them. It was likely they would wonder at her, anyway, the funny looking bird-girl from the Outer Rim, who was too shy to speak to strangers.

It was safer, in her aerie, to watch and wish and feel less alone.

* * *

"_The Correlation of Nanodroid and Microdroid Configurations to High Stress Performance in Microparticle Reinforced Polysynthetic Materials_."

Kiin Iiro sighed. It was going to be another long night of studying. Microengineering was fascinating, but so many of the Coruscanti researchers wrote in such a dreadfully dull fashion. There was no flow, no story, no excitement to the discovery, to the new learning. Research should be conversation, not parched lecture. At times she suspected they deliberately stripped the poetry from their writing simply to sound more confounding to laypeople. The less non-engineers understood, the more intelligent they felt; a terribly backwards way of thinking. Clarity and beauty made for respect, not being deliberately esoteric and confounding. Was knowledge not best when shared and comprehended by all?

"Grilled bantha and steamed quinto special?"

Kiin Iiro glanced up from her datapad and nodded as the droid waiter dropped a steaming plate of meat and overcooked grain in front of her. The Coruscanti also overcooked their seed-grain based foods, but at least it was edible. The bantha steak on the other hand looked quite perfect with blackened strips across it from a hot grill. It smelled divine. "Thank you," she replied, bowing her long neck respectfully, and the droid gave her as funny a look as a droid could give a sentient being, and wheeled off. Kiin Iiro adjusted herself on her stool at the diner's counter and pulled her lute case closer to herself as a group of noisy Rodians shambled past, laughing loudly and jostling her as they moved towards the door. She ran a hand over the instrument case. Her mornings focused on microengineering – her major – and afternoons on music – her minor. Both were deeply enjoyable subjects, complex and full of delicacy and complexity. Fortunately, her music instructors did not try to strip the beauty out of music the way her engineering professors did, and reduce it to mere math.

She picked up her fork and knife and began to cut the steak, eating quietly while she read the research article; with the Rodians gone, it was much quieter in the diner. She ate here frequently, since it was conveniently close to her apartment complex, and the food wasn't too bad; as long as she didn't mind the occasional group of noisy Rodians or Humans, it was a pleasant enough place to eat. It seemed to be a popular place for the lower-level employees of the local businesses, as well as some other students whose parents could afford to place them outside of the university's dorms.

Another burst of laughter broke across the small diner abruptly as the door was opened. Kiin Iiro frowned at the remains of her food; a few more minutes and she would be done, then she could go home to study peacefully. She glanced down the counter narrowly, trying not to be too obvious in her dislike towards the noisy human males, keeping the long quills at the base of her head flat and calm rather than upraised in irritation or hostility.

The noisy human males, though, were wearing clean white armor streaked with red.

There were six of them, the ones towards the back bumping into the ones in the front as the leaders stopped to gawk around the diner, open mouthed, as though they'd never been inside a restaurant before. The bulky helmets with slit visors were gone, clipped to their belts.

They did not share a face. Not quite. The template was there, of course. Kiin Iiro knew they were clones, duplicates, even if she did not know what the template looked like. Apparently, a brown skinned, black haired, brown eyed male with broad features. Very different from Omwati faces, which were so small and narrow. They were a little funny looking. Their differences in face were small but distinct. Hairstyles were different, some were clean shaven, others not. One had a nick cut out of an eyebrow; another had a small scrape on his chin, as though he cut himself removing hair from his face recently.

Whoever it was at their rear pushed them forward, and they jostled into the diner like a gaggle of goslings. Very different from how they marched in the plaza; perhaps they did not do so well in small spaces?

One of them spotted her, made eye contact, and his face lit up in a goofy smile. Kiin Iiro's eyes widened, and her face went cobalt at the realization she'd let herself stare so rudely. Her attention snapped firmly back down to the remains of her food, and she hugged her datapad to herself, her feathers fluffing up around her head in dismay.

They were morning-marchers; one of the groups who did guard work during the day. She had faces to place with armor markings now. And she stared rudely, even if their loudness was rude, too. Coruscanti did not seem to find loudness as offensive as Omwati, though. Kiin Iiro fidgeted, the last of her appetite gone, and she quickly stuffed her datapad into her knapsack. It would be best to go home now.

What could she say to such men? 'You march very nicely, it is calming?' 'I see you in the plaza every day, what are your names?' 'Seeing you all move together reminds me of home?'

All crazy things. They would laugh or think she was mad. She was too lonely, that was all. It was best to keep her silliness to herself. She had science to entertain her, music to keep her company, as she always had. She scooped up her lute case and hugged it to herself.

It would be safer to go home. She had no courage to talk to them.

But she didn't move, except to tilt her head slightly, observing discreetly from under the fringe of her downy bangs. They were crowding into one large, circular booth in one corner of the diner. Two of them were gawping around them outright; one was struggling to look bored and not quite succeeding; two were successfully managing to not stare, but still looked around attentively. The last one – a leader, Kiin Iiro suspected, based on the extra red striping painted on his armor – was pushing them all into the booth brusquely.

Peculiar. They acted like they had never seen the inside of a restaurant before.

The surface of her lute case was lightly pebbled, and her fingers ran over the faint dips and bumps of its' texture, nails making a light scratching sound.

If she had more courage, she would walk up to them. If she had more cleverness with people, she would have words to say. Something appropriate, witty, thankful, amusing. All she could think of now was the reasons why nanodroids were superior to microdroids in manipulating the capacity and hardiness of polysynthetic materials. She certainly couldn't talk about that. Her feathers began to fluff up in agitation and she hugged the lute case tighter.

There were musicians, sometimes, in the evenings at the plaza outside. They played instruments with their cases open before them, taking in credits. Their music was spontaneous and enjoyable. Fun more than elegant. She'd never seen one play inside a diner, but perhaps…perhaps if she could not speak to them, she could, instead, sing for them?

Her voice did not tremble or grow shy that way.

Kiin Iiro set her lute case down onto the counter and snapped open the lid. The olive picea wood was polished to gleaming. She plucked a string, and a deep, mellow sound reverberated from the depths of the sound hole, carved elaborately into the shape of a vine surrounded rose. It was a gift from her mother when she saw her tenth life day. The gift had not had quite the effect her mother hoped; Kiin Iiro had not grown to love performing before people, sparkling under appreciative attention. She had, though, grown to love plucking the strings and playing old tunes quietly, assembling a repertoire of half forgotten Omwati ballads.

It only took a moment to tune the lute again, adjusting the fruitwood tuning pegs accordingly until the strings were appropriately taut. She plucked a string again, this time listening for pitch and quality. Another set of adjustments later, the lute was tuned and sitting in her lap.

There was confidence in music; she was not a musical genius, to inspire and create, but she could follow a tune and follow it well. The first few notes trickled out from her fingers in a thoughtful stream. A simple tune. Short. Pretty. Elegant.

What came out was all those things, but a little lonely, too.

_**Here I sit on Buttermilk Hill****  
****Who can blame me, cry**** my fill****  
****And eve****ry tear would turn a mill- **_

Kiin Iiro kept her voice quiet, low, and let the sound of the lute dominate the song. It had grown quiet in the diner, and she could feel the pressure of eyes on her back. This was silly. She wanted attention, and how she had it, and felt awkward. It was always so. She knew better. The next few notes came out uncertainly before her fingers found their place again, plucking and strumming with the perfection born of practice.

**_Me, oh my, I loved him so,_**_**  
**_**_Broke my heart to see him go,_**_**  
**_**_And only time will heal my woe- _**

She bent her head over the lute, feathers sliding down to drape by her cheeks, hiding her face somewhat more from view. This was a poor performance. It was so much easier when she was with an orchestra, melting into the group and half hidden by other musicians and their instruments. There she could play and sing with so much more confidence.

**_I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel,_**_**  
**_**_Likewise I'll sell my spinning wheel,_**_**  
**_**_And buy my love a sword of steel_****_- _**

**_Johnny has gone for a soldier…._**

The last notes hung in the air, fading after the soft soprano trill of her voice.

The noisy diner was dead silent. Kiin Iiro could hear her own breathing, feel blood rushing to her head. She could never come back here again out of sheer embarrassment. It would have been better to go home. Her shoulders came up around her ears as she hunched up, quickly placing the lute back into its case and snapping it shut.

That was when someone started clapping.

There was a small group sitting in one corner of the diner, two Lowen with what appeared to be either a Pantoran or a Wroonian. The three were smiling and applauding politely. An older human male sitting near the end of the counter added to the smattering of applause, his mouth full of food somewhat visible through his broad smile. A pair of Rodians drummed their hands on their booth's table in appreciation. Another human man, this one with an apron on, was sticking himself half out of the kitchen to clap as well.

Kiin Iiro colored, this time as much from pleasure as from embarrassment. Perhaps she did not have to banish herself from the diner entirely. She ducked her head politely, keeping her eyes modestly downcast.

A quick look towards the booth filled with armored men proved she had their attention as well. None applauded. Half were smiling. The other half seemed somewhat stricken. The man with the extra red roundels on his helmet caught her eye for a moment, and his grim look softened somewhat, into an uncertain smile.

Perhaps it was not the best choice of composition. It was a sad song. Not heartening, or cheerful. She'd misread her audience. They were here for enjoyment, an evening of food and chatter, not a reminder of the losses of war, not for mourning. A foolish choice of song.

Kiin Iiro quickly placed her credit chips onto the table, slung her knapsack onto her back, grabbed her lute case, bobbed once, politely, in thanks for the meal and for the applause, and scuttled out of the diner, feeling sillier than she ever had.

* * *

She walked with her head down, quickly and with purpose.

The morning-marchers were out today; she had stayed inside her apartment as long as she could, not wanting to be seen, but she had a class to get to, a speeder bus to catch, and a plaza to cross to get to them. In the days since her time singing in the diner, she'd avoided the morning-marchers, moving with the flow of morning crowds across the plaza and making herself small enough to blend in. She felt awkward.

This morning was no different. People of many species, smartly dressed for office work, moved across the plaza towards buildings with shiny windows, briefcases and cups of steaming caf in their hands. Here and there, other itinerant university students wandering through the crowd, dressed far more casually and with datapads in hand rather than briefcases.

A voice rose above the bustle, slightly modulated, electronic sounding. "Ma'am!"

Kiin Iiro continued to walk.

"Miss!" The voice was male, loud and expansive from some sort of speakers. Kiin Iiro, along with several other women, paused and turned their heads at the call.

Out of the crowd, one of the morning-marchers emerged, his armor striped in scarlet more than the others. At the sight of the soldier, the crowd skittered back, giving him way until he reached Kiin Iiro. She clutched her lute case to her chest, wrapping her arms around it and lowering her eyes politely, nervously.

This was one of the men from the diner. Why he would call to her, she did not know, nor did she particularly want to know. Her feathers began to puff in embarrassment and she struggled to smooth them back against her scalp. She had chosen poorly, and even if some of the customers appreciated the music, she had willingly drawn so much attention to herself. It was an awkward feeling, even if it was nice to be acknowledged for musical skill, in however small a way.

This close, the morning-marcher looked intimidating. She could not see his face. The unity of the matching armor seemed elegant from far above; here, face to face, it seemed intimidating, blank. She clutched her lute case tighter and bowed slightly in greeting.

"You're the one from the other day. In the diner," he said, by way of beginning. His voice sounded mechanical through his helmet, a little unnatural. There was a tone to it that was difficult to discern, and made more difficult through the electronics. "Not too many Omwati around here."

Kiin Iiro nodded once. This was true.

He seemed to be staring at her, and Kiin Iiro bit her lip. What did he want with her? Surely there was nothing wrong with playing music in a diner, beside the silliness and embarrassment involved? She shifted from foot to foot, uncertainly, waiting for him to elaborate.

There was a sharp, breathy sound from his helmet, and Kiin Iiro decided he had just sighed, perhaps in a slightly irritated way.

"I'm Blackout."

Kiin Iiro blinked. Introductions were a politeness. She was not in trouble then, in some way. She lifted her eyes and looked at the blank mask of his helmet for a moment, before lowering her head again, more gracefully. "I am Kiin Iiro of Omwat, daughter of Miizuu Iiro of Omwat." Kiin Iiro bit her lip momentarily before setting her lute case down beside her and gently touching her fingertips together at waist height, pointed down. Her voice fluted upward in nervousness. "It is a good morning and the air is clear."

Well, the air was clear for Coruscant, at least. Another hour or so, and the smell of exhaust would be stronger, as the morning rush hour lengthened on.

The morning-marcher, Blackout, had his head tilted to one side, and his posture suggested something between puzzlement and curiosity. His stance shifted to mimic hers then, more awkwardly. He pressed his hands together, fingers down, but without delicacy or grace. "Uh, good morning?"

She blinked at him, twice, rapidly, and struggled with a serene expression. He was very awkward too, and a little clumsy with greetings, like a child. It was amusing, and a little sweet. It was a bit of a relief, in a way, knowing he felt uncertain in this situation also.

The crowd milled around them, providing a small bit of clear space for them to stand.

"You're the one from the diner," he repeated, this time with more certainty. Kiin Iiro nodded, and there was another long moment. "You don't talk much, do you?"

Kiin Iiro blinked at him, tilting her head. Was this not obvious? She lowered her gaze in apology.

There was a mechanized chuckle from him that caused her to lift her eyes again. His helmet was accented in red, striped along the top and along the earpieces. Two small galactic roundels were patterned just above the earpieces, near his temples. The armor near his elbows and knees was also designed in scarlet, and a belt with pockets was also red. More red stripes were drawn over his shoulders. There was a very intimidating blaster at his side, black and gleaming.

"You sing good, though."

Kiin Iiro's eyes widened, and she colored. She had chosen her music poorly, and her voice was not strong. A small chirrup worked its' way out of her throat and she bit it back, reminding herself to be polite and not to let her voice pitch. It trilled anyway. "Thank you."

"The song was for us, wasn't it?"

Kiin Iiro lowered her head, feeling feathers flutter against her cheek. A song of soldiers sung before soldiers could only be for soldiers. "I…" she warbled, then steadied herself. "I wished to express appreciation."

There was a long pause. Then a quiet, "That's unusual. Thank you."

Her cheeks deepened in color. Male humans had deep voices. It was a pleasant sound, even when mechanized.

"I can't stay," the man named Blackout said, a hint of regret in his voice. "But my platoon and I also wanted to express appreciation. You ran out pretty fast."

Because she was nervous. Because she was embarrassed. Kiin Iiro nodded once, acknowledging the statement and not wishing to elaborate. Should she speak of shyness, and loneliness, and embarrassment, he would think her too strange. So she smiled a little, gratefully. She still felt embarrassed, but her embarrassment was not for nothing. It was a good feeling, to take a risk and be so rewarded with appreciation and kindness.

"You pass through here often?" he asked.

Kiin Iiro nodded again. "I live nearby, yes."

Blackout's head turned towards the towering apartment complex that stood wedged between an office building and a shopping and entertainment complex. There was a smile in his voice when he said, "Then I'll see you around, Kiin."

Blackout straightened and gave her a formal nod, before turning and letting himself slip back into the flow of the crowd. He paused several steps along and looked back with a wave, which Kiin Iiro returned, hesitantly.

"Kiin"? A shortening. A nickname. She had never had a nickname. It was pleasing somehow. A gesture of friendliness, she knew, among many species, including humans. Kiin. Just Kiin. _Kheeen_. A nickname. As though from a friend. It was a good feeling. Warm. A little embarrassing, to receive a nickname from a human man she barely knew, but a different feeling of embarrassment than usual. Kiin. A nickname, for her. She did not understand the full intricacies of human social interaction, but it seemed that she had somehow earned a friend.

Someone in the crowd jostled her, and she started. She had a speeder bus to catch, and a class to attend, and she would need to hurry if she did not want to be late. Her microengineering professors did not take kindly to tardiness.

She picked up her lute case by its handle, and adjusted the weight of her knapsack on her back, before looking briefly to the sky. The air was clear, but smelled increasingly like exhaust. There were no birds in the sky, nor honeycombed mountains, but instead gleaming windows set in durasteel grids.

It was nothing like home. Nothing like Omwat.

But it seemed a little gentler, today.

Kiin took a deep breath, smiled at the sky, and began to walk.

* * *

The song used here is _Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier_, and is a traditional piece from the American Revolutionary War. The _Battle Hymn of the Republic_, though more aptly named, didn't really have the right kind of lyrics and was much too religious in tone. So I opted for _Johnny_ instead.

~Queen


	44. Covered

_**Author's Note**_: This ficlet is the unfortunate result of me trying to write _Star Wars_ fic while having a chocolate craving. Blame the need for sugar. Beware fangirliness.

* * *

_**Smile**_

* * *

Covered.

* * *

Ahsoka pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed in deeply. "Okay," she began, "would someone like to explain to me _exactly_ how this happened?"

There were roughly a dozen clones standing in front of her. Aside from Rex and Cody, who were the two standing stiff-necked and slightly mortified before the rest, they were all indistinguishable from each other due to the fact they were covered, bucket to boots, in chocolate. There were even little puddles of sugary brown goo around their feet, still expanding from the dripping drops coming from various bits of armor and equipment they carried. At least two of them appeared to have some sort of pink frosting splattered on them, giving the chocolate a bit of color.

Her question earned dead silence, and she glanced over at Barriss, who was managing not to gape at the chocolate-covered clones, but just barely. Her lips were constantly trying not to twitch up into a grin, and she was making the occasional tiny hiccup, as though she was about one funny word away from breaking into giggles.

Ahsoka had to admit, she wasn't too far behind that point.

"Rex?" she prompted, trying to restrain a laugh when he somehow managed to stiffen even more. A few drops of cooling chocolate dribbled from the tip of his pauldron onto the street. He rubbed at his eyepieces, managing only to smear what appeared to be whipped cream further across his visor.

"We were in pursuit of the target, Commander…" he started, then hesitated, as though unsure of how to explain what happened next.

Cody stepped in. "The fugitive went into one of the factories, Commander Tano. It was…well…."

"A candy factory." Rex continued, then added, awkwardly, "Sirs."

"The target detonated an explosive. Inside the factory." Cody finished, shifting awkwardly as a particularly gooey strand of what appeared to be caramel slowly trailed down off the muzzle of his blaster towards the concrete.

"I take it there was a great deal of chocolate inside the candy factory?" Barriss asked, her tone polite but with a current of carefully restrained amusement underneath.

"Yes, ma'am," Cody agreed, then seemed to deflate slightly. "A _lot_ of chocolate. Liquid chocolate."

Rex nodded. "A fountain of chocolate."

"Geyser," Cody grunted. "Floor to ceiling."

There was a wave of affirmative murmurs from the other chocolate-coated men behind them.

Ahsoka pressed her lips together and breathed in sharply. She couldn't laugh. She _couldn't _laugh. Not in front of them, anyway. She had to get them out of here before she –or Barriss – couldn't take it anymore.

"Well, you did a great job," Ahsoka told them, trying to sound enthusiastic. "We've got him in custody. Why don't you all get cleaned up? See if you can find a…fire hose, or something?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cody acknowledged, just as the long string of goo dripping from his blaster finally hit the ground. To the men, he said, in a more authoritative voice, "Let's see what we can find."

The crowd of chocolate-covered clones turned around and began to shuffle back towards the nearest warehouse. Their chase had led them to a factory district a few kilometers out from the nearest spaceport, and they were surrounded by transports, factory buildings, and storage facilities. Most of the local workers were on lockdown or had been evacuated while they chased their chocolate-exploding terrorist friend through the district, corralling him successfully closer to the space docks. Aside from the terrible waste of chocolate, there were no casualties – they'd caught their target quite unprepared.

Barriss finally began to giggle, bringing a hand up over her mouth and turning aside as her shoulders shook with laughter. Ahsoka began to snicker, then turned her head aside as her own giggles turned into a full throated laugh. Rex, Cody, and the rest of the group were, fortunately, now at the end of the street and mostly out of earshot. They were all looking around as they walked, clearly looking for some sort of water source to use to rinse themselves off.

Slowly, the laughter began to subside, and Barriss looked sideways at Ahsoka, her hand still lingering over her mouth, but not hiding the somewhat mischievous smile there. "Do you think they will be in need of assistance?"

Ahsoka's white brows lifted as she considered Barriss' question, then looked at the rather lost looking group of men at the end of the street, a few stragglers straggling after the rest, who'd rounded a corner. There was a trail of smudged chocolate footprints trailing after them.

Wet, chocolate covered men.

The proper Jedi in her warred for a moment with the curious teenager. The curious teenager won.

"Even if they don't, it'll still be pretty fun to watch," she grinned, then laughed in response to Barriss' flushing cheeks.

The two girls, still giggling, hurried up the street to the sound of water erupting from a hydrant.

* * *

There's a candy factory/store near where I live that has a floor to ceiling chocolate fountain. I can only imagine the mess if something like that got 'sploded all over. XD

~Queen


	45. Keeps

_**Smile**_

* * *

_Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum._

"I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal."

-_Mandalorian Memorial Service_

* * *

Keeps.

* * *

"Are you alright?"

The voice was female, and CT-42-8942 looked up in surprise. There was only one female in the whole of the 501st that was out on the field, and it seemed that Commander Tano had decided to stop and pay him a visit. Had it been just about any other time, he would have flushed, stuttered, and beamed with pleasure – she would be the third female he'd been able to speak to since he left Kamino. There was one elderly refugee who called him 'sonny' and a loud mechanic at one of the outposts who gave him directions. A day ago, he'd have turned to Nib and Cred and shared a grin, and he'd have retold the story of how Commander Tano took it upon herself to talk to him, specifically.

But that was a day ago, and today, Nib and Cred were dead.

'42 cradled his blaster in an arm, and held its cleaning cloth in his left hand, fiddling with it. He kept his blaster clean since it meant his life. At least, that was what he'd always thought. As long as he had a blaster between himself and the enemy, he would be okay. But that wasn't how things went. Not in the real world. Not on a real battlefield. Not away from Kamino. Nib hadn't lasted ten minutes before he caught a stray shot; one moment, his squadmate of four years was standing beside him. The next, Nib was missing half his face and was falling to the ground with what was left of his helmet rolling aside.

That was the first time '42 threw up on the field.

'42 glanced up at Commander Tano and nodded once. He wasn't alright. He wasn't alright after Nib took a head shot, and he wasn't alright after Cred bled out on the field in the eleventh hour of the battle, a medic frantically trying to stem a bleeder in his thigh while '42 shot everything that wasn't in dirty white armor or carrying a lightsaber. He didn't remember it very well, in retrospect. Just a blur of shooting, screaming, and telling Cred he'd better not kriffing die too, though he did anyway.

He vaguely realized he was shaking, so he tightened his grip on his blaster. It wouldn't save him.

There was a smallish, orangey colored hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "Hey," Commander Tano said, kindly but with a bit of sharpness to her voice, "what's your name?"

He didn't have one. '42 was still '42, just a number. He'd never picked a name, and none of the names Nib and Cred offered growing up ever fit right. '42 wasn't special. No special training like an ARC or a commander, no special training to be a tech or a pilot. He was just trained to shoot. Basic infantry. No outstanding characteristics, beyond that he was good at shooting things, but not quite good enough at shooting things to be recruited into a sniper corp.

"CT-42-8942, ma'am."

There was a bit of amusement to her tone when she clarified, "Not your designation. Your name."

'42 was too tired to flush with embarrassment. That wasn't a special consideration for him, either, asking his name – some of the veterans had already passed word on to the shinies that General Skywalker and Commander Tano preferred names to numbers. '42, Nib and Cred thought they were lucky when they got assigned the 501st. Great reputation, kind leaders, and they'd be together, to watch each other's backs, just like always. "I'm just '42, ma'am. Never got a real name."

The hand slipped off his shoulder, and the Commander sat down next to him. '42 gave her a slightly incredulous look. There had to be so many more important things for the Commander, a Jedi, to be doing, than talking to him while sitting in the dirt just on the fringe of base camp. A day ago, he'd have been more than surprised; he'd have been thrilled. Some part of his brain that wasn't completely numb recognized that Commander Tano was petite, and really not that much younger than him, physically speaking at least. If she wasn't the Commander, and he wasn't feeling so terrible, he'd have tried to be friendly, but right now, he mostly just wanted to sit by himself and try to stop thinking of Nib missing half his face and Cred screaming for Nib while he bled, because Nib always smiled, even when things were bad.

That was the most important time to smile, Nib would say, when things were bad.

'42 couldn't smile. There was nothing to smile about. He hugged his blaster closer. A day ago, he was excited about finally getting his armor dirty. He wouldn't really be a shiny anymore. Today he wished his armor was still as white as it was the day he got it on Kamino; if it wasn't dirty, it meant there was no battle, that Nib and Cred were still alive, and he had his brothers with him.

"What were their names?" Commander Tano asked, gently.

'42's shoulders came up around his ears, his legs drew in closer to him. Nib and Cred. Their names were Nib and Cred, and they'd been together for four years. Almost half their lives. He sucked in a long sniffle, then swore softly as he realized he was sitting next to the Commander of the 501st and crying like a three year old who just realized there was live fire flying overhead and it was scary.

Somewhere nearby, he could hear the sound of names. He didn't recognize them, but then, he'd only been in the 501st for a few days, and other than Nib and Cred and a few other rookies they met en route to their rendezvous with the rest of the legion, he didn't know much of anyone. '42 lifted his head. Just beyond the curve of a tent, near to a cluster of scarlet-leafed deciduous trees, were three other clones, their armor heavily scarred, their helmets off, and their heads bent. The names were little more than a murmur, one man speaking, then trailing off, only for the next in the small circle to pick up the recitation, before it was passed on to the next man.

"It's originally a Mandalorian tradition," the Commander told him, following his gaze. "Some of the men have picked it up. I don't know the full translation they start with, but the purpose is to remember the names of those who have passed." She paused, quieting as she looked at him. "It keeps their memories alive."

Keeps their memories alive. Nib and Cred were dead, his brothers and best friends.

"I'm sure they'd let you join them, if you ask," the Commander said, leaning forward to try to look into his face. '42 averted his eyes, then looked at the three older men, so far from being shiny and new. Did they do this after every battle? Did they have to? How did they keep going, when they lost the ones closest to them?

"I'm a Jedi," the Commander continued, leaning back and speaking almost more to herself than to him. "We're not supposed to mourn. Becoming a part of the Force isn't supposed to be something you grieve over." The lighter tone to her voice grew more somber. "It doesn't make it easy, though. Or wrong, to remember."

Memories were all he had now. Memories of Nib smiling, of Cred trying to cheat at cards to get some credits. Both of them dragging him through training. Nib tutoring him, Cred quizzing him and whacking him with a pillow when he gave a wrong answer. Cred talking about what designs he was going to get on his armor after his first battle; Nib chewing on the end of his stylus while he tried to sketch out Cred's imaginings onto a datapad. None of them were very good at art, but Nib tried.

"Keeps their memories alive," '42 echoed, and the Commander looked at him. The memories hurt, to remember. But they were all he had now, of his brothers. He hadn't thought too much about what he wanted on his armor. Maybe a stylus and a credit chip, somewhere.

"Keeps," he said aloud, softly first, then again, more firmly. "Keeps."

Commander Tano was looking at him, puzzled.

He wiped at his face a little. There was still wetness on his cheeks. "You asked me my name, a minute ago. Didn't have one then. Got one now. Keeps."

The puzzled pucker to her brows eased, and she smiled. His armor was dirty now; he wasn't a shiny anymore, though the price of dirt was too high. Maybe that was what it meant, to be a veteran in the GAR; experiencing loss, losing brothers, but to keep on moving forward. He missed Nib. He missed Cred. The three brothers standing by the trees had lost so many more, judging by the way they continued, on and on, with names.

It was going to hurt, and keep hurting. Nib and Cred. Their names were Nib and Cred, and they were his brothers, and they were dead. He couldn't do much but keep their memory alive. Cred would be doing everything he could think of to chat up the Commander, acting like an idiot in the process – Nib would be sighing and doing what he could to calm him down and keep him from saying anything inappropriate to a superior, especially a female one. That's what they'd be doing, if they were with him now, sitting with the Commander and talking.

It would have been funny. He'd have sat there, smiling, trying to help Nib but vying for the Commander's attention too. A weak smile wobbled on his lips for a moment, before he lowered his head and felt his eyes water again. His fingers tightened on his blaster.

"It's a good name," Commander Tano said, and there was an orangey colored hand on his shoulder again. She was smiling, but it wasn't a smile of happiness – more of sympathy, of concern, of shared pain. Her eyes were blue, sad. She'd lost people too.

"Nib and Cred," he replied, looking first at her, then his blaster. "Their names were Nib and Cred."

Her hand left his shoulder, fell into her lap, but her eyes stayed on him. "Tell me about them."

They'd have been so pleased, a couple of shinies, to get the attention of the Commander after their first battle. They'd have smiled so hard. He sniffled long and hard, trying to ignore how crude it was while he blinked several times to keep the tears from falling out of his eyes.

He wished he could have told them his name. They would have liked it.

He smiled. It wasn't a smile of happiness, but of good memories savored in a time of pain. Nib would have approved.

Sitting beside the Commander, full of memories, Keeps began to speak.

* * *

This one was a request from awhile back, from Vixen. The request was for Ahsoka talking to some shinies after a battle. There's only one shiny, but I hope you still like it!

~Queen


	46. Alternate

_**Author's Note**_: This one is for the ladies at TCWWU. You know who you are. ;)

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Alternate.

* * *

It was finally time.

After a thousand years of plotting, planning, influencing, waiting, it was finally time for the Sith to regain their rightful place in the galaxy! And he would be the one to do it! All had settled neatly into place. The clones, the order they would execute, his new apprentice - the fall of the Jedi was only moments away - he need only give the word, and that word would be given now.

Alone in his office, standing before his holoprojector, Darth Sidious pulled his dark hood up over his head, and stood regally before the communications unit. With one withered white hand, he reached out and opened a channel to the GAR, summoning the attention of the clone who worked most often with that annoying goody-goody, Kenobi.

Finally, he grinned as the clone's battered helmet appeared before him. "Commander Cody. The time has come. Execute Order 66."

The screen flickered once. Sidious frowned a little. The expected answer, "It will be done my Lord," was not instantly forthcoming for some incomprehensible reason. Irritated - was Kenobi's clone deaf or something? - he repeated himself, a little more snappishly. "Execute Order 66!"

The clone then proceeded to snort, then tilt his head to the other side. "Order 66? For real, Chancellor? Kenobi just took down Grievous and you want me to shoot him for treason? Do I look stupid to you?" The clone's head loomed larger in the projection, ominously. "Frak off, Chancellor."

The head backed off and was replaced by the clone's hand, which was making what passed for an obscene gesture on most civilized planets.

Sidious blinked several times as the visual disappeared. He would Force choke that clone the next time he saw him! How dare he disrespect a Dark Lord of the Sith so brazenly! Insolent wretch!

Enraged, he summoned up the next clone commander available. Kenobi and his clone would have to wait. He'd deal with them personally. Still, there were plenty of other annoyances to be removed from the equation, and Kenobi was not the most dangerous of them. This next order would be a true pleasure.

"Commander Gree," Sidious intoned as the next clone appeared on the projector. "The time has come. Execute Order 66."

There was a pause. Sidious frowned again. Then the clone began to repeat his words, then ramble while sounding increasingly horrified the further he got into his sentences. "Order 66? Order - are you for _real_? YODA? You want me to shoot YODA? IN FRONT OF WOOKIEES?! I like my arms and head where they are, thanks!"

The line abruptly cut off, before Sidious could get a hand up to strangle the impudent clone. So self-serving! So selfish! Clearly these clones were defective! How could this have happened?

He slammed his fist into the holoprojector, opening up yet another line of communication, and the head of a pilot filled his view. "Execute Order 66!" Sidious snarled into the line, and the clone pilot's blank visor stared back at him for roughly one second, before the clone yelped,

"Order 66? Are you kidding? Do you KNOW what Wolffe will DO to me if I shoot Plo? I'm trying to get IN the Wolfpack, not get dead! They have really high standards, you know. Shooting the boss would totally ruin my chances!"

A hand took up the whole visual projection for a second, and then the line died, leaving Sidious caught somewhere between dumbstruck and furious.

With a snarl of outrage, he called up another line, more interested in finding an obedient clone willing to serve his purpose than one that would eliminate a member of the Jedi Council.

A yellow marked helmet popped up in front of him, with commander markings. Perhaps this one would know his place! "Commander!" Sidious snapped, "Execute Order 66!"

The clone shifted a little, then turned his head to the side as though he was looking at something off screen, then turned back and said, awkwardly, "No...no. Sorry. Can't. Aayla will be pissed if I shoot her. I'll be on the couch for like, the rest of the year. Sorry, Chancellor."

A feminine voice called from a small distance away, "What was that, darling?"

The clone turned his head again and called back cheerfully, "Nothing, sweetheart! I took care of it!"

And then the line went dead.

For a moment, Sidious was so taken aback that he forgot he was supposed to hurry to Force-choke any clones that disobeyed before they could cut the line. Then he processed the statement and shuddered, hoping he could someday get the mental image of a Jedi and a clone in a _romantic entanglement_ out of his head. What a terrifying prospect. At least he hadn't been subjected to such foul visuals literally.

Well, all was not yet lost! Even now, the Jedi Temple was being stormed, and soon the feeling of their despair and terror would fill the galaxy! At least Skywalker - _Lord Vader_ - commanded the proper respect and obedience from his men!

A moment later, Sidious was grinning more happily at the thought of the destruction even now being wreaked just a few kilometers away on the home of his old enemies. Without their Temple, the Jedi would be scattered, homeless, without a center. While Vader took care of the Temple, he would ensure his men were doing their job elsewhere on Coruscant.

He pressed another button on the holoprojector, and a strangely tilted video feed filled the screen, accompanied by a strangely breathy sounding audio line. Sidious' brows (or what was left of them after the most unfortunate melting incident of a few minutes ago) drew together as he tried to make out what was happening. Unable to understand the scuffling and heavy breathing, he snapped, irritably, "What the devil is going on?!"

The scuffling and weird breathing noises stopped, and a moment later, two flushed faces, pressed close together, were peering back at him. One was a clone without his helmet, the other was Vader's former Jedi apprentice. The clone was looking pissed and the Jedi puzzled.

The clone snapped, "I'm a LITTLE BUSY right now!"

The Padawan looked at him, then at the holoproj again. "Rex, who is that?"

The clone snorted, "Hell if I know, he's got a hood over half his face."

The clone then proceeded to distract the Jedi in a way Sidious hoped to never see again in his lifetime. Fortunately, the horrific imagery he hoped to never see again disappeared before his eyes were burned too severely. He shuddered, feeling vaguely ill. Jedi cheating on their stuffy Code was only to be expected, but it was hardly something he wanted to see for himself. Ugh.

Well, Lord Vader's former apprentice was useless anyway as a Jedi, and his Captain mattered little. There were others who could sweep the streets and ensure that there were no Jedi escaping! The apprentice and the clone would be caught up in it all and executed for traitors, same as all the rest of those who stood against him and the Sith!

This time, Sidious did not open a line out into deep space, but instead to those responsible for protecting and guarding Coruscant. The Coruscant Guard! This would be far simpler! Coruscant was his, and utterly under his influence! No clone here would dare stand against him.

Yet another clone appeared on screen, looking startled at the interruption. Sidious gathered himself up, straightened his spine and said, with a cold and cruel tone, "Commander. The time has come. Execute Order 66!"

The clone stared back at him for a second - just long enough for him to blink - and said, "Really? The Jedi? But they just saved your life, like two days ago. And a ton of my men. I've got healers wandering around here. Do you KNOW how many of my men got shot during Grievous' little kidnapping spree? You telling me to let my men die by shooting the healers?" There was a pause, and Sidious could almost feel the clone's face rearranging itself into a scowl behind the helmet just before he finished with a vehement, "Frak you!" and cut the line.

In a sudden blaze of fury, Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, swore and threw his hands over his head in frustration. Again and again it happened! Each time he sent out the most important, critical order that ensured the rise of the Sith (and his most glorious, awesome Empire of evil) and the fall of the Jedi (and their lame, idiot-filled democracy of lameness) he was blown off by an angry (or annoyed, or distracted) clone officer.

Darth Sidious, soon to be Emperor of the first Galactic Empire, was most seriously displeased. There was only one man left he could rely on to get the job done - and Lord Vader was contacting him now. A small blue light on the holoprojector flashed cheerfully, full of the promise of destruction. Palpatine opened the channel, and a half-size vision of his new apprentice shimmered to life, looking oddly - contrite?

"What has happened, Lord Vader? Have you successfully destroyed the -"

"Look, Chancellor," Vader interrupted, "I went over to the barracks to get the rest of the guys like you said before we invaded the Temple, but Kix thought I was having some sort of vision problem because my eyes are all red and yellow, and he went and got Appo, and when I told Appo the plan about the Temple, he was all, "But have you TALKED to Padme about this Sith thing?" and I said not really, and the guys are all insisting now that we not overthrow the Republic because I'm overprotective."

There was a long pause as Darth Sidious stared at his apprentice across the holoprojector. He was angry. This was not at all how this was supposed to happen. This was his moment of triumph! Instead, his hard won apprentice was suddenly concerned about his anger management issues, and his loyal flesh droids were suddenly more concerned about their own lives than his orders! Preposterous!

Sidious' lip curled into a sneer. "You would take the advice of a group of worthless clones over mine? You will gather your army and -"

"Did you just call me and my brothers worthless?"

Sidious blinked, and stopped. Then he frowned down at the holoprojector. "Who has hijacked this channel? It is an official channel reserved for my -"

An identical voice to the first one chimed in next. "He did! Hey, Fox, that you?"

What Sidious could only assume was the first voice called back, "Matchstick?"

"Hey brother!"

"Who else is here?"

A sudden chorus of matching voices began to drown out the audio channel on his holoprojector. His secret, heavily encrypted, Sith holoprojector. In a sudden snit of rage, Sidious bellowed into the cacophony, "Silence! How did you all get on this private channel!?"

There was a pause in the noise. Then, one, single, grating voice said, "You have an open channel to the entire GAR, _d'kut_. Nice plans to overthrow the Republic. Not happening." A pause, then, "Fox?"

A clone voice came back over the line. "Hey, Wolffe. Already on it."

That was, unfortunately for Darth Sidious, all the warning he got before the doors to his office were blown open and a set of very heavily armed commandos burst in...


	47. Brothers

_**Author's Note**_: This one is for SerendipityAEY. Thanks for a hilarious conversation!

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Brothers.

* * *

To my Mother Talzin, Clan Mother of the Nightsisters, greetings,

As per your instructions, I will attempt to report upon the activities I and my brother engage in as we terrorize the galaxy and seek our revenge. My brother in particular wishes to extend his gratitude for the new legs and the restoration of his mental well-being. He also has requested that I send a lengthy list of harms he would cause on the Jedi known as Kenobi, but it is excessive in length and I believe you are already aware of his disregard for the Jedi.

Your loving son in darkness,

Savage

* * *

Dearest Mother,

Today, my brother and I sparred! It was a glorious fight. You would have been proud to see your sons. We shall be the terrors of the galaxy and restore the honor of the Nightbrothers, and all that was taken from Dathomir and your clan.

Your loving son in darkness,

Savage

* * *

Dear Mother,

I am somewhat concerned about the physical well-being of my brother. It is not the magical legs you gave him. Rather, it is…the food he eats. In the days since our departure from Dathomir and the restocking of our ship, he has eaten nothing but bantha burgers and fizz drinks.

I am unsure of what to do. Does he not require a more healthful diet to maintain his fighting form?

Your loving son in darkness,

Savage

* * *

Dear Mother,

Today, my brother and I sparred again. It was also a glorious fight, but I believe my brother has designs upon the lightsaber with two blades which you gave me. I do not know why he covets it so. I would be honored to aid him assembling his own, but he refuses my help.

I believe I should keep a careful eye on it.

Your loving son,

Savage

* * *

Dear Mother,

Today, we fought the witch Ventress and the Jedi Kenobi at once! The cowards escaped us, but the battle was glorious and we emerged victorious.

Your loving son,

Savage

* * *

Dearest Mother,

Please speak to my brother in your next communique, regarding his eating habits. I tire of picking up discarded cans of fizz drinks and the wrappers of bantha burgers.

It is unbecoming of a Sith Lord and a Nightbrother.

Your loving son in darkness,

Savage

* * *

Dearest Mother,

We had to stop at Zeltros today for a refuel. I had no idea there could be so many beautiful women in one location. They are very different from Nightsisters and seem strangely impressed that I am of such large stature. I believe they respect me as a warrior. It is pleasing. My brother says we have no time for women and must remain focused on our revenge.

I suspect he is simply jealous he no longer has a lower half. The women were most unimpressed by his lacking.

Your loving son in darkness,

Savage

* * *

Mother!

I knew he had designs on my lightsaber! He stole it, and now it is broken, and he refuses to admit to his thievery! Instead, all he says is that double bladed lightsabers are not as good as single bladed ones, and that he will not use such a pitiful weapon! It is reprehensible behavior and an insult to my honor! I will destroy his things in revenge!

Your loving son,

Savage

* * *

Dearest Mother,

I thought of a more suitable revenge upon my brother. There was an unfortunate incident involving bantha burgers, fizz drinks, and our ship's airlock.

Your loving son in darkness,

Savage

* * *

Dear Mother,

I fixed my lightsaber. It took me _hours_.

Your loving son in darkness,

Savage

* * *

Dear Mother,

We had to stop at Zeltros again for fuel. My brother refused to come out of the ship. I am quite sure it because he is missing his lower half. I think I shall tell him that.

I think I like Zeltros very much.

Your loving son,

Savage

* * *

Dearest Mother,

Slaughtered and pillaged today. Found some money too.

My brother is now refusing to talk to me.

Your loving son,

Savage

* * *

Dearest Mother,

Forgive me for not writing in so long. My brother and I have settled our differences regarding our the superiority of our preferred lightsabers and the lower halves of our bodies, but there was a good deal of destruction in the process. We needed a new ship. This one is much nicer than the old one. My new quarters are very comfortable. The pillow is stuffed with feathers.

Your loving son,

Savage

* * *

Dear Mother,

My brother thinks that he is better than me! I saved him from madness and he repays me by stepping on my face! Then he insisted I am to call him Master!

I think I shall call him spider butt instead. It is more appropriate.

Your loving son,

Savage

* * *

Dear Mother,

Please tell spider butt in your next communique that even though he doesn't remember it, he did indeed have a spider butt.

Thank you.

Your loving son in darkness,

Savage

* * *

Dearest Mother,

We fought some pirates today. Their leader was very mouthy. I think if I see him again I shall kill him.

We also fought the Jedi known as Kenobi. The battle did not progress in our favor. We are in search of a place to regroup before we continue wreaking havoc on the galaxy. I am injured, as is my brother. One of his legs has been removed. I lost an arm. We had to work together to walk.

I am glad to have a brother, even if he is a spider butt.

Your loving son,

Savage


	48. Future

_**Author's Note**_: This one is for laloga, who encouraged me to continue with the insanity.

* * *

_Smile_

* * *

Future.

* * *

To My Dearest Mother of Dathomir,

Though I am separated from you and my sisters are gone, thanks to the machinations of my former Master Dooku (may he die most painfully and at my hand) and that bolts-for-brains pet of his, Grievous, (may he also die most painfully and at my hand) I will endeavor to inform you of my progress in the galaxy, as it was your wish for me to make my way independently.

I will not fail to live up to your expectations or to avenge the blood of my murdered sisters.

Your daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

There are a great number of seedy bars in the galaxy.

I think I shall drink at them all in honor of my departed sisters.

Your daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

I killed an obnoxious man today, so his friends offered me his job. I can use the money so I took it.

Their leader is about as big of a brat as I was when slaughtered my first enemies as a Sith and became the supreme warlord of Rattatak.

I suppose the work will do for now.

Your daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

Forgive me for not writing these last few days. They have been unusual. The work I referred to in my last correspondence has been...enlightening. I set free a girl who also lost her family - she was able to regain her brother because of my actions. She will not suffer as I suffered. This makes me feel - satisfied.

I also stuffed the bounty hunter brat in a box. I suspect he will not enjoy my prank as much as I did.

Your daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

The pestilent human male bounty hunter is continuing to pester me with his pathetic romantic advances. I would kill him for his presumptuousness, but as I am attempting to not slaughter every person who annoys me, I am restraining myself.

Restraint is very difficult, Mother. Perhaps I should stuff him in a box as well?

Your daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

I am in need of some advice, as I am unsure of what to make of this situation. The Theelin bounty hunter is persisting in my acquaintance, and has repeatedly been attempting to engage me in evaluating the various well-formed attributes of the different species of males in the area.

It's somewhat entertaining. Should I be concerned she is going to betray me by lulling me into a false sense of security? Should I kill her now?

Yours in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

Thank you for your explanation. I believe I am enjoying this "female bonding" process you described. I will attempt not to kill the person you say is merely trying to be "friendly".

Yours in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

Latts (the Theelin bounty hunter - she dislikes being referred to as only "you, Theelin" and I have agreed to call her by name in honor of the "female bonding" process you spoke of) says that I should use the pestilent human male to my advantage, making him do my bidding until I bore of him. Though I am appreciative of having my own minions, she fails to understand I am already bored of him. Good minions do not persist in making pathetic attempts at flirting with their mistresses, they cower in terror! It's as if she has never enjoyed crushing pitiful beings under her heel before.

Still, I am attempting to restrain myself. I suspect tying up the pestilent human male and stuffing him in a box will only encourage him.

Do you, in all your wisdom, have advice on this situation?

Your (annoyed) daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

The bounty hunter brat finally made it back into town today. He was screaming something about becoming the greatest bounty hunter of all time in honor of his father, who he says was important somehow. I reminded him I stuffed him in a box.

Children are so amusing.

Your (entertained) daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

The pestilent human male bounty hunter made a comment about us becoming more intimate today. I made his face more intimate with my fist.

Thank you for your advice.

Your daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

The bounty hunter brat was questioning me on how to fight Force users today, so I taught him how to avoid being cut in two by a lightsaber.

I don't think he appreciates my teaching methods. Ungrateful wretch.

Your (unappreciated) daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

I encountered my former pet today. He claims to have found himself a brother. The brother seems to be missing almost as many man parts as Grievous.

Oh, and I'm currently trapped on a ship with Kenobi. I suppose I can assume he still has his man parts, even if they're out of use.

Your daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

Day four with Kenobi. I begin to sympathize with Skywalker. How he survived years of Kenobi's propriety I have no idea.

Yours in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

Kenobi's man parts are somewhat less out of use.

Your daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

Free now.

Your daughter in freedom,

Asajj

* * *

My Dearest Mother,

I have finally returned to Tatooine, for some unfathomable reason. Dirtball.

Latts bought me a drink, I reacquainted the pestilent human male with my fist, and provided the bounty hunter brat with another lesson on fighting Force users (he's getting rather light on his feet these days).

They're a strange, violent group, Mother.

I must be going. I'll be keeping an eye out for my former pet, but in the meantime, a girl's got to earn a living. The bounty hunter brat has found another multi-hunter job.

Your daughter in freedom,

Asajj


End file.
